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EGLEE 

A Girl of the People 


BY 


W. R. H. TROWBRIDGE 





NEW YORK 

A. WESSELS COMPANY 
1902 









THE LIBHA^Y OF 
CONGRESS, 

'T'wij Camtji RtOSfVED 

wm/. 190^ 

rif^f^ntiairr rwTqy 

CjLARsCX'XXa No. 

V 

COPY 8. 


Copyrighted 1902, 

A. WESSELS COMPANY 

Published October^ igoa 


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PRESS OF 

BRAUNWORTH & CO. 
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS 
BROOKLYN, N, Y. 


INTRODUCTION 




HE character of the extraordinary girl of the 


i people, known as Egl^e, has been hastily 
limned by the Comte de Beugnot in his Memoirs. 
The portrait, imperfect as it is, has a value for the 
student of human nature apart from its association 
with an event that must be forever memorable. Its 
inconsistency, its perplexity, its subversion of formula, 
attest the completeness of that momentous thing 
called the Great French Revolution, for the protest of 
Anarchy against itself is the most striking evidence 
of an anarchic state of things. The organised attack 
on convention however terrible, if successful, becomes 
in turn a convention, but it is in the vortex of the 
whirlpool that the true chaos of the ocean is to be 
found. The present narrative is in no sense an 
attempt to excuse the character of the girl whom the 
Comte de Beugnot met in the Conciergerie ; at the 
most it is an example of the growth of seed in stony 
ground. 


V 


INTRODUCTION 


.Much that IS astonishing has been produced by the 
Faubourg St. Antoine ; where the dregs of the people 
settle, much that is astonishing will always be found. 
In this dreaded quarter of Paris the germs of revolution 
have always existed. The Citizen King and the 
Plebescite Emperor recognised both its hidden menace 
and its open danger, and they successively passed the 
plough of modern improvement over it. Broad asphalt 
boulevards have extinguished the old network of dirty 
alleys, the cobbles of whose pavements when occasion 
required served as the barricades of insurrection, and 
new and clean houses with long, white ashlar facades 
have taken the place of the stone latrines in which since 
the days of St. Louis crime, vice, and ignorance 
festered. The face of the Faubourg has changed but 
its heart is still the same, for the heart of the people 
never changes. Whether clad in the old rags or in the 
new-fangled pantaloon costume, the Faubourg is 
always formidable. In 1870 it spoke and acted as in 
1793, nor is it even now in the article of death. 

The study of the people is to be learnt only among 
the people. It is there that human nature is to be 
found in all its multifarious phases ; that which seems 
incongruous, impossible to the First Estate is a naked 
fact to the proletariat, and human nature is very 
wonderful and unaccountable when it has never worn 
the mask of convention. 


vi 


CONTENTS 


PART I 
178S 


CHAP, 

I. THE MASKED BALL 

II. AT TRIANON 




PACK 

• 3 

29 


PART II 
1793 


III. 

FIVE YEARS LATER . , 

• 


. 63 

IV. 

IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU . « 


• 

77 

V. 

IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 

• 


. 117 

VI. 

THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


• 

148 

VII. 

IN THE CONCIERGERIE . • 

• 


. 165 

VIII. 

HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS • « 


• 

185 

IX. 

THE PLOT IN THE PRISON , 

• 


. 227 

X. 

THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 


• 

256 

XI. 

AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 

vii 

• 


• 273 



V 


PART I 
1788 




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CHAPTER I 


THE MASKED BALL 



HE Stamp of the people was on her from the 


crown of her head to the soles of her feet. 
Born in an attic of the Faubourg St. Antoine, she 
had passed the fifteen years of her life in the slums on 
which, in the year 1788, the shadow of the Bastille still 
fell. No baptismal register recorded her name; but 
she answered to that of Eglee, which in the argot 
of the quarter meant Brightness, and was probably 
suggested by the general liveliness and merriment of 
her disposition. She preserved no recollection of her 
parents, nor did she know whether they were alive or 
dead. And she did not care. When she was a mere 
greasy, tousled infant just able to toddle about the 
passages and stairs of a crazy tenement that lodged 
a dozen families her mother disappeared. Madame 
Laforge, who washed the clothes of the quarter, had 


3 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


on her weekly rounds found her sitting on the floor of 
an empty attic, gleefully pulling the hairs out of a 
mangy cat’s tail. At sight of the washerwoman the 
child toddled up to her affectionately and in answer to 
all questions had only a smile. It was by no means 
the first time in Madame Laforge’s experience that 
she had come upon an abandoned infant ; but this was 
the first time she ever felt it incumbent on her to 
succour one. Her compassion was aroused and she 
took the child away with her ; she never regretted her 
act of charity, and in time her generosity was amply 
repaid by the willing assistance rendered her by the 
foundling. 

In the Rue Fromenteau, where Madame Laforge 
lived, morals were a thing unknown. Down there 
vice and ignorance fattened on the dregs of the 
people like reptiles on the filth of an oubliette. In 
due course Eglee’s insignificant career was stamped 
by the eighteen-year-old son of her foster-mother 
with the usual seal of those born and bred in slums. 
But important as the incident was as marking the 
stepping-stone from childhood to womanhood, it 
could hardly be said to have coloured her life, 
which continued uneventful as before. The first 
event of real importance to her was the departure 
from the Faubourg of Jean, who had been in turn 


4 


THE MASKED BALL 


her foster-brother, playmate, and lover. Indirectly 
it attracted her attention to a higher sphere than 
that in which she was born, and for the first time 
in her fifteen years she was conscious of a curiosity 
to explore the world that lay beyond the shadow 
of the Bastille — that world for which the men and 
women of the Faubourg had so great a hatred and 
fear — that world into which the companion of her 
childhood had gone. 

Ever since the day that one Goureaux, who had 
formerly lived in the Rue Fromenteau, and was 
now coachman-in-chief to Monseigneur the Due ^ 
d’Amboise, had come to see Madame Laforge, in 
all the glory of the d’Amboise plush and powder, 
the imagination of the child had been excited. 
Hitherto her ideas of those who dwelt out of the 
Faubourg were grotesque and she thought of them 
vaguely as terrifying monsters, for in her refractory 
infancy Madame Laforge’s most efficacious threat of 
punishment was, ‘‘ If you give me any more trouble I 
will send you to the Bastille, where the aristocrats 
will devour you ! ” 

The impression Goureaux left behind him was not 
easily effaced ; Egl^e thought of him with wonder and 
admiration, but he fired Jean’s youthful ambition, and 
the boy, who had hitherto loafed about the quarter 

5 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


amusing himself with all the idle evil it contained, now 
became restless and longed for fine clothes and the 
grand air of Goureaux. He was ever picturing him- 
self strutting about the Faubourg in the insignia of the 
same haughty peer of France as the coachman, and at 
last, through the medium of the imposing Goureaux, 
he entered the ducal service as lackey. Such evil as he 
had not previously gleaned in the Faubourg he now 
rapidly learned from the valletaille of the Hotel 
d’Amboise, where idleness, sumptuous living, and the 
example of the gay world made him an apt pupil. 
His mother, to whom the French language either 
printed or written was a cipher to which she had no 
key, had aspired for her son more advantages than she 
herself possessed ; he had been taught to read and 
write, accomplishments which Elg^e too had acquired 
at the same time. And a voraciously devoured copy 
of the “Adventures of the Chevalier de Faublas,” held 
in great esteem in the lackey world, completed his 
education. 

Whenever he got a chance he delighted to visit the 
Rue Fromenteau on account of the stir he made in his 
gorgeous livery. His elevation was so recent that his 
first love had not yet lost its charm, and it flattered his 
vanity to enlighten Egl^e of the doings of the great 
world in which he lived and of which she knew 
6 


THE MASKED BALL 


nothing, while she listened to all he told her with the 
profoundest interest. 

Once, as if to dazzle her with his heightened 
importance, he promised to take her to one of the 
public balls at the Opera, where in mask and domino 
the highest and the lowest mixed. The promise idly 
uttered he was slow in keeping, for he feared the 
ridicule of his fellow-servants if it were known that he 
kept company with one so mean as Eglee. But even 
at fifteen the girl evinced something of the masterful 
personality which was afterwards to be so strikingly 
developed, and she kept her vain and weak lover to his 
promise willy-nilly. A pair of glorious eyes and an 
equally glorious voice, a frank and unbounded admir- 
ation for the lackey, and a great deal of persistency, 
accomplished Eglee’s keen desire. This event so in- 
significant in itself was of the utmost interest to the 
girl; it coloured her dull life, and its after-effect on her 
was exceedingly momentous. It marked her acquaint- 
ance with the world beyond her Faubourg, it was the 
mould in which her unformed character was to harden, 
it stirred her to the depths. It was Fate’s summons, 
if she had known it, to appear in the wonderful drama 
of life and to play such a rtle as she could — in a word, 
the fulfilment of this rashly uttered promise of Jean 
was E glee’s awakening. 


7 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


A date having at last been fixed it was arranged that 
she should call at the porter’s lodge of the Hotel 
d’Amboise for Jean, who would be on the look out for 
her, and together they would go to the long anticipated 
ball. This was more easily said than done. Beyond 
the precincts of the Faubourg St. Antoine Paris was 
but slightly known to Eglee, and the other bank of the 
Seine, where the Faubourg St. Germain spread itself in 
stately and sombre magnificence, was a veritable terra 
incognita. She speedily lost her way, and some men, 
whom she asked to direct her to the Hotel d’Amboise, 
out of wanton mischief, purposely put her on the 
wrong track. 

Towards midnight Jean was on the point of 
giving up the hope of seeing her and going by 
himself to the ball. For the last two hours he had 
been off duty, and it was decidedly exasperating to 
waste such precious time in vain expectatior\. Again 
and again he opened the porter’s gate and looked out 
eagerly. The stately Rue de Lille, in which the 
Hotel d’Amboise and many other grand houses stood, 
was empty, and out of the dark sky a cold drizzle was 
falling. For him it was a cheerless and lonely waiting, 
and he muttered a malediction when he looked towards 
the Rue du Bac, where in a flood of light there con- 
tinually passed foot-passengers, sedan-chairs and coaches, 
8 


THE MASKED BALL 


“For the crown of the king,” he exclaimed to 
himself at last, “ I’ll not wait here any longer. Women 
are the very devil for teasing a man ; they are all alike, 
whether it’s old Madame la Duchesse inside there who 
is never without a text in her mouth, or Eglee who 
makes a grand fellow like me stand shivering in the 
cold because she has the sweetest eyes and voice 
in the world.” 

The elegant lackey sighed and stood irresolutely half 
in and half out of the porter’s gate ; he would wait till 
the stroke of midnight, and then with the fair Egl^e 
or without her he would speed to the Opera, which 
meant to him all the adventures of Faublas rolled into 
one. His impatient reverie was just then broken by 
the prancing of horses’ hoofs on the cobble-paved 
courtyard of the Hotel d’Amboise ; he heard the heavy 
bolts of the great entrance gate clang back and a coach 
rumbled out beneath the sculptured portal into the 
Rue de Lille, dazzling him with its lights as it 
passed. 

“ My faith ! what a beautiful, beautiful gentleman ! 
Tell me, Jean, who was that ? Ah, but these aristo- 
crats smell sweet ! He shook out a tiny handkerchief 
made of lace and you couldn’t see his fingers for the 
rings. I took him all in, from his peruke to his — his — 
to the middle of his waistcoat, I couldn’t see any 
9 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


further. And now kiss me, Jean, and tell me who 
that beautiful aristocrat was.” 

The lackey rubbed the glare of the coach lamps out 
of his eyes and, forgetting all his impatience, threw his 
arms rapturously round the speaker. 

‘‘Ah, Egl6e, Eglee, you have nearly broken my 
heart ; do you know how long you have kept me here ? 
Little of the ball we shall see, and I have to be back 
here at five to light your beautiful, cursed aristocrat to 
his bed ; and perhaps too he may not come. He says 
he would rather sleep in any bed but his own. Come, 
we’ve no time to waste, let us be ofF.” 

“ So that was your master, Jean ? Ah, how I should 
love to serve him ! I hate the filthy brutes in our 
Faubourg ! ” And the girl stamped her feet with the 
memory of something that revolted her. 

“Yes, that was Monseigneur the Due d’Amboise, 
and may the devil take him in the flower of his youth!” 

Jean kissed her again on both cheeks, and hastily 
picking up a bundle that was lying somewhere in the 
darkness by the gate he stepped out into the street. 

“Come,” he added hilariously, noticing that his 
companion carried a similar bundle under her arm, “ let 
us go quickly. Who knows, my beauty, you may dance 
with him to-night. These aristocrats are a queer lot, 
they go to the people’s balls ; and in dominoes and 


10 


THE MASKED BALL 


masks how can the Due d’Amboise tell you from the 
queen ? ” 

And the two, hugging their bundles, which con- 
tained their disguises, walked rapidly down the Rue de 
Lille and took the shortest way to the Opera. 

The volatile lackey had completely forgotten his 
vexation till Egl^e suddenly sat down on the steps of 
a church they passed and exclaimed — 

‘‘ I must rest my legs a bit, indeed I must. I am 
dead tired. Do you know, Jean, I have been looking 
for you and the Rue de Lille since sunset — walking, 
walking, walking, and nothing to eat ? It wasn’t my 
fault, Jean, don’t scold me ; remember I have never 
been out of the Faubourg but once before, and that 
was when we went to see the Montgolfier go up in the 
air in the Tuileries Gardens. Do you remember it, 
Jean ? We were children then. And to-night it was 
so dark and wet — just feel my clothes how damp they 
are — and when I got to the corner of the Rue St. 
Antoine I took the wrong turning, then I lost myself 
and couldn’t find the river for ever so long, and the 
people I asked were all devils and told me the wrong 
way. I wish they could fall into Legendre’s abattoir 
where nothing comes out alive — the brutes ! But I 
found you at last, dear, I would have walked all night but 
I would have found you. Oh, I am so tired and sleepy ! ” 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Eglee having delivered herself of this speech in a 
rapid, caressing manner, yawned loudly. But Jean 
had no intention of wasting any more of the valuable 
night in permitting the tired child to rest, and with a 
great deal of impatience he forced her to get up and 
follow him. 

You can sit down at the Opera as much as you 
like, EgHe,” he said, “ but we might as well give up 
the ball if you are going to spend the whole night on 
these steps. Besides, it is cold and wet here, and only 
people of the damned Faubourg loaf about on church 
steps. It’s vulgar ; come, get up.” 

Eglee rose with another yawn and obediently 
followed her inconsiderate lover, chatting volubly as 
she went in spite of her weariness. The Due 
d’ A mboise was the chief topic of her remarks ; he was 
the first aristocrat she had ever seen, and the sudden 
glittering flash of him as he rolled by her in his 
grandeur had made an impression on her susceptible 
child’s mind. It was, too, a subject dear to Jean’s 
heart, for he was fast becoming the typical lackey who 
likes to discuss his master and to display the extent of 
his critical observations in the usual servile and con- 
temptuous manner. So they covered the remainder or 
the way pleasantly enough until they entered the 
Place du Palais Royal, where an enormous crowd was 


12 


THE MASKED BALL 


a-jostle in noisy confusion. A building ablaze with 
the light of innumerable candles, before whose spacious 
portal coaches were depositing mysterious figures, 
signified to Eglee that at last she had reached the 
long anticipated ball. Suddenly she stopped and 
uttered a vile oath common to the inhabitants of 
the Faubourg St. Antoine. 

‘‘Jean, Jean, I knew I should forget something. 
See, I can’t go in, I have no shoes. I can’t dance in 
these ! ” And she clattered her sabots on the pavement 
and raised her face to Jean’s with an expression of 
dismay. 

It was now Jean’s turn to utter an oath, which he 
delivered himself of with great ease and vigour, and 
as he glanced for the first time critically at his mistress 
he realised what a thoroughly shabby and disreputable 
little creature she was, and he looked around to see it 
there was any one in the noisy crowd who recognised 
him. Egl^e’s finery was both flashy and tawdry, 
a medley of odds and ends, on the selection of which 
at an old clothes’ shop in the Faubourg she had 
expended an infinite amount of care and vanity. In 
the haste and excitement with which she had dressed 
she had quite forgotten such things as shoes and 
stockings, nor had she made any provision for them, 
for never having possessed them their necessity had 

13 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


never occurred to her till now. Her ablutions that 
day had been very thorough, and she looked what she 
was — a child of the people in holiday attire, minus the 
grime. The sudden idea of the incompleteness of her 
costume of which she was so proud made her blush 
with mortification. She felt that she was an object 
ot ridicule, and believing that she would not be 
admitted to the ball, her offended vanity and dis- 
appointment culminated in tears. 

But by nature Jean was too good-humoured for his 
anger to last long, and, with more common sense and 
imagination than one would have credited to so shallow 
a fellow, he said reassuringly — 

“ Quick, put on your domino and mask and we will 
go to the patisserie over there and see if we can raise 
a pair of shoes.” And while he spoke he put on his 
own disguise. 

Egl6e clapped her hands with childish glee, and in the 
twinkling of an eye she donned her mask and covered 
her shabby and now quite wet finery with her domino. 

“ Don’t you say a word ; leave all the talking to 
me,” said Jean as they entered the patisserie. 

The only occupant of the shop was a very fat, 
good-natured-looking woman who was knitting 
behind a counter on which were all the triumphs 
of the pastry-cook’s art. 


THE MASKED BALL 


“ Sit down, Marquise,” said Jean to Eglee in a loud 
voice and swaggering manner, which was his idea of 
imitating great folk. 

Eglee full of wonder sat down on a three-legged 
stool. The woman behind the counter put aside her 
knitting and exclaimed politely, “ What is it I can do 
for Monsieur ? ” 

Jean swaggered to the counter and upset a dish of 
macaroons on the floor with the sleeve of his domino. 

“ Madame la Marquise there had the whim to go 
to the ball to-night in the costume of a girl of the 
Faubourg St. Antoine, but forgot that one cannot 
dance in sabots ; will it be possible for you to oblige 
her with the loan of a pair of shoes ? Perhaps even 
an old pair will serve.” 

He spoke with an assumption of haughty assurance ; 
but the woman was not so easily taken in ; she replied, 
with a laugh — 

“Madame la Marquise has studied the people to 
perfection, for if the detail of her dress which I 
cannot see is as complete as the sabots would indicate, 
no less studied is her manner of sitting. I compliment 
Madame on her success ; she has the true air of the 
people.” 

Jean glanced at Egl^e and uttered an exclamation 
not often heard in the mouths of aristocrats, at least 

15 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


when in the company of ladies. Eglee was sitting 
astride the stool in an attitude unmistakably vulgar 
and natural. The woman evidently had a sense of 
humour and she was also flattered with the success of 
her perspicacity. With ironical emphasis she added 
good-naturedly — 

‘‘Monsieur le valet de chambre, when you have 
seen as much of aristocrats as I have, you will be able 
to tell them under any mask or domino. If you wish 
to make people believe that you and your friend are 
aristocrats go to the Faubourg St. Antoine where the 
people are blind and fools. But I don’t bear malice, 
and when Monseigneur has paid for the dish he has 
broken, I daresay I can sell him an old pair of slippers 
for Madame la Marquise.” 

In great discomfiture Jean pulled oflF his mask 
and stammered an awkward apology. He had a 
solitary sou in his waistcoat pocket and to get it 
he had to unbutton his domino, and he stood before 
the woman a very shamefaced lackey. She laughed 
again loudly ; her fat body shook all over, and her 
broad and flabby expanse of chest quivered like a 
blanc mange. 

She laughed till her eyes completely disappeared in 
her fat face and till the tears seemed to gush from 
the wrinkles, she laughed till her breath came in 

i6 


THE MASKED BALL 


spasms and her laugh changed to a gurgle that 
threatened to choke her. Suddenly with a great sigh 
she stopped and pointed with a finger first to Egl^e, 
who still sat in the same position, too frightened to 
move, and then to Jean, exclaiming with a great 
wheeze, “ Madame la Marquise ! An aristocrat with 
one sou ! ” and began again with renewed vigour. 
At last she stopped and, picking up the broken dish 
and the scattered macaroons, said, “ Keep your copper, 
boy, and study your master better.” Then she 
disappeared into the back of the shop, whence she 
produced two very shabby pink satin slippers. You 
are welcome to these, girl. I don’t want to spoil your 
fun, I was fond of balls myself once.” And she handed 
the slippers across the counter to the astonished lackey. 

They were much too large for Eglee ; still they were 
better than the impossible sabots, which were rapidly 
discarded, and with the profoundest and most servile 
thanks the two hurried out of the shop. The woman 
did not hear, the sight of Egl^e in the slippers that 
were too big for her had provoked another fit of 
laughter. But whether it was a keen sense of humour 
or satisfaction at her own astuteness that caused such 
extravagant merriment, neither Jean nor Egl^e specu- 
lated. Glad to escape on such easy terms, they hurried 
towards the Opera, the one humiliated and the other 

17 


c 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


frightened, and they did not regain their composure 
till all other thoughts were driven from their minds by 
the contemplation of the brilliant and marvellous scene 
around them. 

In a great press of people they entered the vast ball- 
room of the Opera and stood arm-in-arm in a colonnade 
beneath the first tier of boxes. To Jean, who had 
already been several times to these balls, the fascinating 
scene had lost none of its novelty, and in a state of 
great exhilaration he watched the ceaseless, kaleido- 
scopic movements around him. But to EgHe, who had 
only once before in her young life been beyond the 
limits of the Faubourg St. Antoine, and that was to 
see Montgolfier’s balloon ascend from the Tuileries 
Garden, the scene she looked upon through the slits of 
eyes of her mask was bewildering. The arm that 
rested on her lover’s trembled. The great crystal 
chandeliers with their thousand upon thousand of 
candles dazzled her ; the vastness of the Opera 
staggered her ; the incessant movements of the 
mysterious dancers made her dizzy ; the loud, rhythmic 
strains of the orchestra crashing on the perpetual buzz 
of the voices deafened her. It was all too much to 
take in at once ; added to the bodily fatigue of her long 
search for Jean it made her sleepy and she yawned 


THE MASKED BALL 


“ What do you think of this, little one ? ” whispered 
Jean caressingly. ‘‘ It’s better than a bare-foot car- 
magnole in the gutters of the Rue Fromenteau, isn’t 
it ? This is the world for me, this is life; down there 
in the Faubourg is hell. Bah ! ” 

Eglde struggled heroically against her sleepiness ; she 
was conscious of a vague pleasure in it all, and an 
abnormal sense of the importance and goodness of Jean 
that filled her with deep gratitude. 

“ I love you, Jean,” was all she could say, but the 
tone was such that her lover intuitively guessed what 
she felt. He remembered his own sensations of a first 
ball at the Opera. 

“ Look up at the boxes, Eglee, they are full of 
aristocrats. Nobody knows who is who. See the 
jewels on that woman, you may depend they are 
worth more than the face she hides under her mask. 
Cursed pigs ! for all their manners and paint and 
clothes they are the same flesh and blood as we are. 
I hate them but I like the life they lead.” 

Jean explained to his companion other attractions of 
the ball worthy of equal notice. His glance, how- 
ever, always came back to the boxes where the 
aristocrats sat incognito, and he thought of Faublas 
and the intrigues of the high with the low. In spite 
of his contempt of aristocrats that he had acquired in 

19 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


the Faubourg St. Antoine, there was in him too a 
sneaking admiration for them that he did not own to 
himself, acquired at the Hotel d’Amboise. But Jean’s 
esteem was without respect — that sentiment had long 
ceased to exist anywhere in France ; it was an esteem 
compounded of envy and hatred that a few years 
hence was exasperated throughout the Third Estate 
into a mania at the mere sound of the word aristocrat. 
Suddenly he whispered to Egl6e — 

“ Do you see that man in a black satin mask in the 
fourth box from the end of the first tier ? See, his 
domino is unbuttoned and you can see the pink satin 
and lace of his coat. I’ll swear that’s the Due 
d’Amboise ; look at the way he moves his head and 
leans forward — why, I could tell him among a hundred. 
I wonder who that woman is he is talking to, the one 
with the diamonds and the black velvet mask ? One 
of his mistresses. I’ll swear. He is only my age, 
Egl^e — not twenty-one yet — and he is one of the 
biggest rakes in France. He is so damned handsome, 
and richer than a prince of the blood, curse his 
pretty face! Come, dear, let’s try a dance.” And 
putting an arm round E glee’s waist Jean whirled 
her into the very thick of the throng. 

Egl^e only knew how to dance in the style of the 
Faubourg St. Antoine, nor had Jean acquired a more 


20 


THE MASKED BALL 


refined and courtly mode. They interfered with the 
even swing of the dancers ; they bumped rudely into 
people and were buffeted back against others ; there 
was no space for them to spread themselves after the 
manner of the people ; twice Eglee’s slippers came off 
and were almost lost in the human whirlpool. All 
around them was confusion where they had knocked 
the dancers out of step ; masks were turned angrily 
towards them, and now and then curses were muttered 
at them. To stop was to be knocked down, to get 
out of the crowd was to throw half the room into 
confusion ; they might be ejected for interfering with 
the regularity of the dancing. 

“ Let us try once more to dance out of this, little 
one. If these aristocrats who come to the people’s 
balls would only dance like the people, there would be 
none of this trouble. Here’s a clear space, now let 
us make a dash for it.” 

They twirled round awkwardly, edging towards the 
outer ring of the dancers, when they lurched heavily 
and unexpectedly into a couple with such force as to 
throw Egl6e off her feet. In her fall the shabby pink 
slippers came off, and before she could rescue them 
they were kicked out of sight by a score of feet, irre- 
trievably lost. She rose in dismay, clinging to Jean 
with a face reddened with shame under her mask, and 


2 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


stood barefoot in the midst of the ball-room. But if 
she had lost her slippers the couple into whom she had 
bumped had also suffered. 

The lady had lost her mask and was full of dis- 
comfiture and rage that filled her eyes with angry 
tears. 

‘‘Take me out of this at once,” she cried im- 
periously to her companion. “ Oh, if I should be 
recognised — the scandal, the shame of it ; another 
advantage to my enemies ! ” 

The figure to whom she addressed herself took off 
his mask while she spoke and handed it to her, dis- 
closing to Eglee’s fascinated gaze the handsome 
features of the young Due d’ Amboise. The lady 
quickly put on the mask, but not before she had 
been recognised. 

“ The queen ! the queen ! Marie Antoinette ! ” 
exclaimed a dozen voices, and to catch a glimpse of 
her all around her the dancing ceased. 

“ Make way ! make way ! ” cried the aristocrat in a 
voice of command, forcing a passage through the 
curious crowd, which with difficulty permitted him 
and the imprudent queen to pass. 

The whole incident had only taken a few seconds ; 
the queen had been recognised and disappeared almost 
in the same moment. But throughout the Opera, 


22 


THE MASKED BALL 


and the next day throughout Versailles and Paris, even 
down into the Faubourg St. Antoine, the rumour with 
its satellite exaggeration spread that the Queen of 
France had been seen dancing at an Opera ball in 
domino and mask. One more imprudence born of 
thoughtlessness and frivolity was added to the weapons 
of her enemies, and the wound it was to inflict was 
reserved for the hour of her utter humiliation. 

In the confusion Jean and Eglee had escaped to a 
position in which they could once more stand quietly. 
Nobody in that great crowd noticed that Egl6e was 
barefoot, she herself had forgotten it. She made no 
effort to talk to Jean, her thoughts were too perplexed 
for expression ; and Jean, quite unmindful of her, 
sharply scanned with the eye of a detective every box 
in the Opera to see if he could discover the dominoes 
of the queen and his master. In the squalor, the dire 
poverty, the coarse brutality of the Faubourg St. 
Antoine in which she had been born and bred, it had 
never crossed Egl^e’s mind that there could be such a 
condition of life as this. As far back as she could re- 
member, king, queen, and aristocrats were associated 
in her mind with the Bastille, the hatred and fear of 
which was inherited through long generations of the 
people. She had heard it said in the Faubourg that 
the king and queen and aristocrats exacted with 
23 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


terrible threats all the money of the people which was 
so hard to earn ; and she had in her childish ignorance 
got to think of them as monsters who drank blood ; 
had she heard they were come to the Faubourg she 
would surely have run and hidden herself. But when 
Jean went to be lackey to an aristocrat and came back 
to see her, looking so handsome in his fine clothes and 
with marvellous tales of the aristocrat world in which 
he lived, Eglee’s interest was excited. She wondered 
what manner of people were these who with their 
Bastille could make even the burly Santerre shudder 
and at the same time fill Jean with admiration. Now 
for the first time her insatiable curiosity was being 
satisfied and she was speechless with wonder. She had 
never shared the implacable hatred of the Faubourg, 
for her childish imagination had not grasped its mean- 
ing ; fear alone was strong in her — fear of the 
mysterious monsters whom she heard cursed every 
day. But now at a blow all her preconceived 
ideas were shattered. It staggered her. How 
beautiful was her vision of the Due d’Amboise, he 
was unlike any one she had ever imagined ! Were all 
aristocrats like him ? Then why did the Faubourg 
curse them ? And that woman with the tears of rage 
in her eyes was the Queen of France, the dreaded 
Austrian who lived on the blood and the money of the 
H 


THE MASKED BALL 


people ! The Queen of France ! and she, Eglee, had 
actually touched her ! The surprise of it was over- 
powering. And what was there in the expression of 
that proud, lovely, never-to-be-forgotten royal face that 
drew Eglee’s heart out of her and made her thrill for 
days after at the mention of the name of Marie 
Antoinette ? The discovery that the aristocrat world 
was different from what she and the Faubourg had 
always thought was bewildering, it was more than her 
brain could stand. It seemed to her that she had 
never been so weary in her life, and squeezing Jean’s 
arm to attract his attention she said peevishly — 

“ I am so tired — so tired. See, I have lost the slippers. 
Do let me go, Jean ; think how far I have to walk.” 

Jean, too, was quite ready to go. After what had 
happened it was better to slip away. Suppose the 
Due d’Amboise should find out who had been the 
cause of the queen’s mishap ? He shuddered ; it would 
be as much as his place — nay, his life — was worth. 

“ Come,” he said, ‘‘I have had enough.” And soon 
they were in the broad space in front of the Opera in 
a wet fog. 

To escort his young mistress to her abode in the 
Faubourg St. Antoine was not at all to Jean’s mind. 
Egl^e must find her way back as best she could. He 
merely pointed out the direction in which she was to 

25 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


go. Outside in the open air they took off their masks 
and dominoes. Egl6e looked very tired and dis- 
reputable, and Jean laughed at the sight of her. 

“ If they had known what you were like under your 
disguise they would never have let you in, but that’s 
the fun of these balls. What did you think of the 
masks ? Fine sight, wasn’t it, little one ? And we 
bumped into the Oueen of France ! Oh, la, la ! You 
do look tired, my heart. Good-night, and au revoir. 
Turn to your left when you get to the corner there, 
and then ask your way.” 

And the light, selfish youth kissed her and tripped 
rapidly off. 

Eglee watched him with a sigh as he went across 
the wet square in whose shining puddles the lights of 
the Opera danced. When he disappeared she splashed 
off in the direction of the Faubourg, but at once lost 
herself in a tangle of dark and crooked streets. There 
were few passers-by at that hour, and those she 
accosted did not deign to notice such a waif of the 
gutters. The unusual exercise and excitement had 
completely exhausted her, and she made up her mind 
to pass the rest of the night in the first dry and 
sheltered place she found. 

In her search she wandered into the Place Vend6me, 
where a hubbub attracted her towards a little crowd 
26 


THE MASKED BALL 


gathered round the great equestrian statue of Louis 
XIV. A coach was canted over on the end of its 
rear axletree, from which the wheel had been wrenched, 
and two spirited horses were kicking the varnished 
dashboard to splinters and quite beyond the control of 
a fat, grandly liveried coachman who was standing at 
their heads vainly trying to calm them. Two women 
and a man, the occupants of the over-turned coach, 
and beyond question aristocrats, stood a little back 
from the crowd that had gathered and leaned against 
the pedestal of the statue, which seemed monstrously 
large in the foggy darkness. One of the women 
wore a black satin mask as if she wished to escape 
recognition. Her cloak, which was of a very rich 
material, was open, and round her throat glittered a 
magnificent necklet of diamonds, while the corsage ot 
her dress, which her cloak only half hid, was ablaze 
with jewels. 

Egl^e’seyes rested on her in fascination ; tired as she 
was her curiosity was excited, and she stopped in the 
crowd. The masked lady’s companions stood in front 
of her as if to shelter her from observation, and were 
laughing lightly and treating the mishap as a joke. In 
a few minutes a fiacre^ that a lackey had been sent in 
search of, came rumbling up over the pavement, and 
the three got into it hurriedly. And as Egl^e 

27 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


watched it roll away she heard somebody exclaim 
contemptuously — 

“ The Polignacs ! A thousand livres that mask 
was the Austrian ! ” 

There was a murmur of surprise in the crowd and 
the fat coachman was beset with questions. He 
declared he knew not whom he was driving, for he 
wore the livery of the Count Fersen, and his master 
himself had bidden him drive three masked people to 
the Hotel de Crillon. But his story was not believed, 
and the mob, whom the execrated name of Polignac 
had infuriated, smashed the coach to pieces and chased 
the coachman and horses away with curses. 

Egl^e paid no heed to the brawl ; with the departure 
of the aristocrats her curiosity subsided, and she cared 
not in the least whether it was Polignac’s or Fersen’s 
coachman. She walked across the Place Vendome 
yawning, and in a dry corner of the colonnade the 
tired child stretched herself and slept. 


28 


CHAPTER II 


AT TRIANON 

S INCE the night of the masked ball Eglee’s- 
thoughts ever wandered romantically beyond the 
limits of her Faubourg, and on the slightest pretext 
her feet carried her into the heart of the Paris of the 
rich. She no longer thought of aristocrats with fear, 
for she had seen them at close quarters and found them 
wondrously fair to look upon. And there grew up in her 
mind a great contempt for the men and women of the 
Faubourg. She ceased to consider their opinions 
worthy of any respect, who were they in their filth 
and poverty to preach of their rights ? Rights indeed, 
what could such as they know of rights ? And 
curses, too, who were they to curse ? To be cursed 
rather, she could understand that ; and once hearing 
some women of the Rue Fromenteau vilifying the 
Queen of France, she exclaimed — 

29 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ Canaille ! you lie, you don’t know what you are 
talking of. Have you ever seen the queen ? No. 
But I have. You know nothing of her. She is 
beautiful — oh, so beautiful. Ah, I know now why 
the Bastille was built. Pity they didn’t build it 
bigger so that they could lock up the whole lying 
Faubourg ! ” 

And Eglee had flouted the women after the manner 
of her kind. Save for a shrill curse and a laugh of 
contempt they paid no heed. Who, indeed, was 
Eglee that her words should have any authority ? 

The primitive natures of the young of the lowest 
people are peculiarly susceptible to impressions ; their 
instincts, unhampered by the conventions of civilisation, 
are keenly alert and powerful. By chance in the rude 
soil of Eglde’s heart a seed had fallen — a seed of the 
Beautiful. Eglee’s mere glimpse of the aristocrat 
world was a revelation to her, and with spontaneous 
childishness she conceived for it an unbounded admira- 
tion. Moreover, she had no vague, unsatisfied yearning 
after a place in that higher world, no ambitious envy 
of it, no discontent for her own sphere ; such sensations 
belong to those nearer the dazzling firmament, and 
Egl6e no more longed for the life of aristocrats than 
for the moon. To her one was quite as impracticable 
as the other. 


30 


AT TRIANON 


So she developed into a partisan of aristocrats, and 
took the greatest interest in their doings, vociferously 
proclaiming it throughout the Faubourg St. Antoine. 
People only laughed at her ; it was a joke to hear such 
a little gutter-sweep champion any cause, and Madame 
Laforge’s neighbours delighted to tease the child for 
the fun of hearing her defend the queen. They never 
got angry, though Eglee invariably did ; for, apart from 
her politics, she was willing, useful, and good-natured. 
Her temperament was naturally gay ; as she had never 
had any possessions she had no worries, and she was of 
so little consequence that she had no enemies. In her 
poor, ignorant little way she was as happy as the day 
was long ; her sins, which beyond doubt were grievous, 
were unconscious ones ; her conscience did not prick 
her, her mind was untroubled. And this happy state 
of contentment, Which was the outcome of perfect 
health and ignorance, was now vividly coloured by her 
imagination. She created in her fancy a world only 
peopled with aristocrats and queens who were always 
extravagantly beautiful, and whose sole reason of 
existence was to dance at Opera balls. 

In the excess of her gratitude to Jean Eglde pro- 
claimed his importance and vast knowledge of the 
aristocrat world to all in the Faubourg, so that he 
began to be considered of some consequence, for Jean 

31 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


always brought news of the all-powerful Court m 
whose doings the Faubourg St. Antoine was intensely 
interested. Never before in French history had the 
QEil-de-Boeuf been so critically regarded as now ; 
never before had the “ despotism tempered with 
epigrams ” exhausted its resources ; of a surety 
tyranny must be dying when such specialists as 
Doctor Turgot, Doctor Calonne, and Doctor Necker 
were called in consultation one after the other and 
could do nothing. So the times were full of unrest, 
some great unknown event was imminent, and all 
classes of society, from the aristocrats to the Faubourg, 
were in suspense. Yes, the CEil-de-Boeuf, which 
was tyranny, which was the ancien regime^ was dying, 
and all France was a-tremble, and hailed any who 
brought news from Versailles. 

The notice that he excited was very flattering to 
Jean ; and one day, being more generously inclined than 
usual to his advertising mistress, he promised to take 
her to spend a day at Versailles, where she could see 
aristocrats galore. This promise Eglee ever relied on 
Jean’s keeping, and she looked forward to its fulfilment 
as a poet to fame. 

If on second thoughts Jean regretted his rashly 
spoken words chance gave him no loop-hole for excuse. 
The Due d’Amboise was appointed to a high post at 
32 


AT TRIANON 


Court at about this time, and removed his entire 
establishment to Versailles. Some months passed 
before the lackey was seen again in the Faubourg, 
during which time Eglee heard nothing, saw nothing, 
of the gay world. But her thoughts were not idle, 
she continued to cherish her fantastic ideal of it and to 
wonder when Jean would come back to take her to see 
the palace of the king. He came, however, when she 
least expected him, and surprised her rinsing a tub in the 
gutter in front of his mother’s. Eglee dried her hands 
hastily in her skirt and was about to throw her arms 
round him, but the dignity of Jean’s appearance cooled 
the ardour of her greeting. Something told her that a 
public and violent exhibition of affection, however 
natural, was out of place, so she put her arms behind 
her back and demurely holding her face up to the 
lackey puckered her lips to receive his kiss. 

“It’s a dear, good Jean,” she said, “a beautiful, 
aristocrat Jean. And it’s nice to see you again, dear, 
after all the stinking louts of the Faubourg. How are 
the queen and the beautiful Due d’Amboise and our 
friends down there ? And when are you going to take 
me away for a day, Jean, as you promised ? I’ve got 
some fine clothes, I can tell you, so you won’t be 
ashamed of me — everything complete. Old Madame 
Gobel, who keeps the second-hand teinturerie in the 
33 


D 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Rue St. Antoine, has lent them to me. They once 
belonged to a Comtesse in the Rue Chaussee d’Antin. 
Oh no, you won’t be ashamed of me, Jean.” 

It was a day long memorable to Eglee, this day of 
the coming of Jean. But not to her alone, for to Paris 
also the whole week in which the day fell was long 
memorable. Every morning a great orange-coloured 
sun rose into a cloudless sky turning it into a fiery 
furnace in whose stifling air Paris baked ; and the 
canopy of every night was like a steaming blanket 
riddled with the flames of the stars. The squares, the 
gardens, the broad cafe-bordered thoroughfares were 
filled with parched, sullen beings who sprawled every- 
where. Nowhere was the misery of that week more 
intolerable than in the Faubourg St. Antoine — the 
formidable Faubourg, where the microbes of revolution 
bred in the dregs of the people. From the attics and 
cellars of the narrow, breathless streets and alleys there 
crawled the wretches who hugged an inarticulate 
grievance that it took a thousand years to voice. 
Obscene, squalid wretches, hideous to look upon ; 
sullen, vindictive wretches, whom starvation and 
oppression have driven murder-mad ; horribly grotesque 
wretches, half-man, half-ape, whom decency and order 
have kenneled in a latrine. Silently and thickly they 
spread over the singed city, and wherever they rested 
34 


AT TRIANON 


they were like maggots bred by the appalling heat. 
There was a vague suggestion of death about them — 
the gloom, the repugnance, the horror of dissolution. 
But what they sought was not carrion, it was air. 

Such streets as the Rue de Lille, where the long, 
high walls of the mansions of the noblesse cast a 
shade, were favourite resting-places of the suffocated 
horde. Squatting on the pavement in the shadow of 
the morose walls the denizens of the Faubourg looked 
in disfavour on the closed portals with their sculptured 
escutcheons. Here and there through the fluted rail- 
ings of a massive iron gate they had vistas of gardens 
and fountains, of grass and green trees. Where were 
the possessors of these necessities become luxuries ? 
Flown to the Paradise of Versailles, where amid the 
bosky pleasures of Trianon they thought neither of the 
heat that blistered Paris nor the canaille. Once again 
have the people in their need looked to their natural 
leaders, the Duces or Dukes, the Ablemen of their 
race. To find help, to find sympathy ? To find only 
streets whose desolate grandeur is abandonment. 
Charming vistas lie behind iron-railed gates — vistas of 
hope unrealisable to a panting, abandoned people. But 
were the iron gates once broken ! 

In spite of the hot stench of the slums Eglee was 
fresh and happy. The extreme heat was to her only a 
35 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


trifling physical derangement of Nature, she was too 
strong and healthy to be susceptible to excessive 
changes of temperature. But Jean, who since he had 
become an aristocrat’s lackey was very elegant and 
fastidious, appeared thoroughly exhausted by his 
journey. He climbed wearily the crazy stairs of the 
tenement to his mother’s room, and having carefully 
taken olF his powdered peruke and plush coat threw 
himself limply at full length on the floor on a heap of 
unwashed clothes. The sweat made little gutters in 
the rouge on his cheeks, and he lay along time panting 
and speechless ; it was easy to see that under all the 
vanity and affectation of his manner the would-be 
imitator of Faublas required a stronger constitution 
than he possessed to emulate the gay Chevalier’s 
dissipations. It was soon noised that he had come to 
pay his mother a brief visit, and that evening he held 
quite a reception around Madame Laforge’s wash-tubs 
of neighbours who dropped in to hear the latest gossip 
from the king’s chateau at Versailles. 

Jean’s duties and a great distaste for the style of 
living in the Rue Fromenteau compelled him to return 
on the morrow. When he came he had no intention 
of taking Eglee back with him, but the charm the girl 
exercised on his weak nature was still powerful. She 
held him to his promise, and he had not the skill or 
36 


AT TRIANON 


the courage to refuse her when at daybreak, clad in her 
shabby and fantastic finery, she declared with decision 
her intention of accompanying him. The attention 
he had received in the Faubourg had so flattered his 
vanity that his self-sufficiency was at the moment quite 
equal to the ridicule of his fellow-servants, and he knew 
that by favouring Eglee he would still further increase 
his importance among his acquaintances in the 
Faubourg. And full of self-satisfaction and good- 
humour he set out with Eglee. She who had never 
before been away from Paris was full of childish excite- 
ment that anticipated the unknown sights in store for 
her in a whole world of aristocrats. 

At the barriers of Paris they mounted a diligence 
bound for Versailles. Crossing the Seine the 
lumbering vehicle climbed the steep road that passes 
the Palace of St. Cloud ; the horses rested for a while 
on the summit, panting and steaming ; the sun was 
not yet visible, though the eastern horizon on which 
it was impossible to gaze announced that he was 
coming with unparalleled fury. In front stretched 
the road through the leafy forest ; behind lay Paris, 
the whole vast city in a glance, quivering in the 
already burning air. The surprise of the sight was 
immense to Eglee, it was her first knowledge of 
such a thing as a panorama. She clapped her hands 
37 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


with delight as she recognised the peaked turrets of 
the Temple and the vast domed roof of the Tuileries 
beyond which the slender spire of the Sainte Chapelle 
and the great towers of Notre Dame swum in the 
quivering blue sky ; while in the remote distance 
there loomed a huge, black mass that now stood out 
rugged in the air, now was dissipated into countless 
vibrations. Was it ? could it be ? Yes, of a surety 
it was the Bastille ! And almost at their feet flowed 
the Seine like a silver ribbon entwining gardens and 
parks bowered in a vivid green boscage. 

Outside Paris the great heat was not unbearable; 
there was a freshness in the leafy shade of the woods, 
a release from suffocation in the open country. 
Eglee was flushed with pleasure which filled her 
with tenderness, and throughout the romantic forest 
of St. Cloud she and Jean behaved themselves after 
the fashion of the people quite regardless of the other 
occupants of the diligence. It was Eglee’s holiday 
and she intended to enjoy it. Her spirits infected 
Jean, and they went gay and volatile, with no thought 
of the morrow ; through the glades of St. Cloud ; 
through the sleepy little town of Sevres that seemed 
to blink at them as they rolled along stirring up its 
hot, choking dust ; through blazing sun and great 
stretches of shade, down the long and straight Avenue 

38 


AT TRIANON 


de Versailles, almost to the gates of the king’s 
chdteau. 

They alighted at a small cafe frequented by the 
lackey class, and having appeased their hunger with an 
omelette, a yard of bread, and a bottle of red wine, 
Jean showed Eglee the vast and stately palace or 
their sovereign lord and master. Egl6e gave a little 
gasp of wonder. 

“Theic’s nothing like it in Paris,” she .said. 

“I should think not,” said Jean, with sarcasm, 
“We are only the people there — canaille to be 
barricaded into our Faubourg, to be shot and hung 
on the gallows and starved. Here we are aristocrats, 
my dear, and that means all that’s nice.” 

“ I would rather live here than in Paris, Jean.” 

“So would I,” said he. 

“ And are they all aristocrats inside that great 
building ? Is it full of them ? ” 

“ There are less than Louis XV. had sins to confess, 
and more than the queen you are always talking of 
has virtues,” he replied oracularly. 

And producing his ticket of service to satisfy the 
Swiss Guard Jean led Egl^e rapidly across the vast 
esplanade to that portion of the palace reserved for the 
servants of the household. 

The Museum “ A Toutes les Gloires de France,” 
39 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


that most of us have read about or visited, is to-day 
merely the embalmed corpse of the palace of the old 
kings. Its vv^alls are but the shell of an extinct 
condition of life. It is hard to imagine that beings 
of flesh and blood like ourselves ever inhabited the 
great dreary rooms whose tarnished splendour seems 
so vulgar to us nowadays. Yet it was once the scene 
of a life of unparalleled magnificence in our modern 
Europe. Every room from the Gallery of Mirrors to 
the meanest lackey’s bore the stamp of occupancy, for 
several thousand people used to sleep under the roof 
of His Most Christian Majesty. Throughout all its 
vastness there pulsed the breath of human life, gay or 
grave or tragic. It was a royal caravanserai. But 
like all earthly things life departed from it ; that which 
had made the great building withered : its heart stopped 
beating and death spread throughout all its members 
on the day the poissardes took Louis XVI. to bake 
bread for them, as they said, at the Tuileries. From 
that day it has been the mausoleum of its own life. 

As with all tombs the tooth of time has eaten into 
it. Indifference, or loveless care, has turned it into a 
museum, and the iconoclastic Republic has shorn it of 
the last vestige of its former splendour. It no longer 
stands in the stately isolation which made it so 
imposing. Tramways jingle under the very windows 
40 


AT TRIANON 


from which looked once the mightiest and loveliest 
of France. Hotels, caf6s, shops, stables, all the para- 
phernalia of a life it once despised, have crept up to 
the very gates of the grand court of the esplanade and 
are gradually squeezing it into insignificance in their 
sordid embrace. Soon it will be but a shabby, 
rickety facade in the midst of practical, commercial 
buildings. A little while and it shall wholly disappear, 
every trace of it, as completely as its quondam 
grandeur. 

But on the day when Egl^e visited it the Palace of 
Versailles was in all the pride of its splendid life. 
The disease of death had not yet seized it. 

The Due d’Amboise had a house in the town 
whither his establishment had removed from Paris ; 
but, like other great lords who held high positions 
round the persons of their Majesties, he lived chiefly at 
the palace, where Jean and some half-dozen of his 
people were also lodged. The chief of these, the 
steward of the Due, Jean now sought in order to 
report his return, bringing Eglee with him into the 
room where some idle fellows sprawled in the 
d’Ambroise livery. He adroitly accounted for Eglee 
by following a patriarchal precedent for a like 
situation ; and introducing her as his sister, whom 
he had brought with him from Paris to show the 

41 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


sights of Versailles, Jean begged the steward’s leave 
to find a bed for her in the palace for the night. 
Whether the story, which quite took Eglee’s breath 
away, was believed or not, it was accepted and the 
permission for her lodgment granted. 

“ Now, Eglee, I’ll show you the park,” said Jean, 
and led the astonished girl through a labyrinth of 
rooms filled with the servants of the Court. 

Here Egl6e saw tall heyducs lounging idly on sofas, 
some of whom ogled her as she passed ; pages were 
playing dominoes ; women were gossiping and 
laughing. To her surprise Jean seemed to know 
very few of these people ; he explained that they 
were perhaps taken for new arrivals, for many of the 
servants were unknown to one another as there was 
a perpetual coming and going of Court folk, and 
coaches were continually rolling in and out of the 
great gates. In some rooms EgHe saw servants, that 
to her seemed as gorgeous as aristocrats, eating and 
drinking and smoking ; in others there were dogs and 
cats and monkeys and birds, pets of the Royal Family 
or of the aristocrats in the splendid rooms above 
where Eglee could not go. All windows and doors 
were open on account of the great heat, and Egl6e 
heard strains of music far away. Now and then there 
was heard the heavy tramp of soldiers in the esplanade, 
4 * 


AT TRIANON 


and bugle-calls and the beating of drums mingled 
with the rumble of a coach over the cobbles. 
Through the door she caught a glimpse of a garden 
where all was green and fresh, and gaily dressed people 
were walking about on the terraces and looking into 
fountains. Everywhere there was life. 

They came finally to a corridor which led to the 
garden, and as Eglee stood lost in speechless wonder at 
the grandeur and vastness of all she saw, the sound of 
voices and laughter came from an open window above 
them and a lady looked out. 

“ That is Madame Adelaide, one of the king’s 
aunts,” whispered Jean, drawing Eglee back from 
notice. The lady called a certain name once or twice 
in a coaxing voice and threw some crumbs from the 
window. And to Eglee’s astonishment a magnificent 
feathered beast, such as she had never imagined existed, 
came up to peck the crumbs. 

‘‘ Oh, Jean,” the child exclaimed, this is the 
happiest day of my life ! It is all so beautiful, so 
wonderful ! I am sure the aristocrats are good, it 
is only our Faubourg that doesn’t know anything 
more than a louse, that curses them.” 

Yes, it is very nice to be an aristocrat ; I wouldn’t 
exchange places with any man in the Faubourg, no, 
not even with Santerre, for all the money he makes 
43 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


out of his brewery. But I hate these aristocrats, 
Egl6e, they are the same people as we are, all but the 
poverty. But the day is coming when we shall have 
our turn, we shall show them what it is to live like 
us. We are going to trample them underfoot just 
as they have trampled on us. Ah, I wonder how 
they are going to like that. I’ve heard the Comte 
d’Artois’ horse-doctor, Monsieur Marat, speak here in 
the very palace, and he knows. Our time has come 
at last, he says ; for the CEil-de-Bceuf has fallen into 
its dotage, and the king and his ministers are fools. 
Yes, they are fine folk, these cursed aristocrats, but 
we made them so — the more fool we, I say. They 
have forgotten that down here, but we remember.” 

He spoke with an air of conviction, but to Eglee 
his words were meaningless. She paid no heed to 
them. The aristocrat world as she saw it affected 
her senses with an indescribable pleasure. What did 
she care for politics, what did she know of liberty and 
the rights of the people ? 

Jean’s political reflections were cut short by her 
inability to understand them, and he felt a certain 
contempt for her at her lack of appreciation of the 
burning question and the childish delight she took 
in her day’s outing. 

“ Let us go into the park,” he said, it is cool 

4 + 


AT TRIANON 


under the trees.” And turning into an alUe bordered 
with a lofty boxwood hedge Jean led Eglee into the 
Park of Versailles. 

He made the child, who was a slave to his slightest 
wish, sit down beside him on a grassy knoll in the 
shade of a great tree. It was better to make love than 
to get hot and angry over the cursed aristocrats. And 
they spent the better part of the afternoon in happy 
indolence and caresses, forgetful of all but themselves. 

Nobody disturbed them, not even a coach passed in 
the broad and shaded avenue near by that led to the 
Little Trianon, whither they were going later to have 
a peep at the Court playing peasant. The whole world 
seemed asleep ; Jean said great folk never stirred out 
in the heat of the day. And, gradually overcome by 
the drowsy shade, they too slept, until a peal of merry 
laughter awoke them. Eglee rubbed her eyes with 
her fists, a little puzzled at first to know where she 
was, but Jean, mumbling a curse at being aroused, 
turned over on his side and slept again. 

“How picturesque ! How romantic ! How pas- 
toral !” exclaimed a lady, making the woods ring with 
a gay laugh. “ It is a subject for Monsieur Boucher 
to paint — Glaucus and Daphne asleep in the Forest 
of Arden. Such subjects would make us feel more 
tender, more inclined to worship the blind god, the 
45 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


only god worth worshipping, than the cupids and 
nymphs on our ceilings and screens. What say you, 
M. de Vaudreuil ? ” 

The gentleman thus addressed for answer poked a 
dainty lacquered stick he carried into the ribs of the 
sleeping Jean, who started up angrily with language 
never heard at the king’s levee. 

“Decidedly bucolic,” said the gentleman in dis- 
gust. “ For my part I prefer the cupids and nymphs.” 

By this time Jean was wide awake and aware of the 
exalted state of those before him. He got rapidly on 
his feet, and in great confusion slavishly begged pardon 
for his language, his sleeping, his existing at all. 
Eglee, too, realised that they were aristocrats ; a great 
shyness kept her seated and speechless, but wonder 
fastened her eyes upon them. 

“ It’s one of d’Amboise’s lackeys,” said M. de 
Vaudreuil, in nowise heeding the thoroughly abashed 
Jean, “but your Daphne, Duchesse, has really fine 
eyes. Where do the people get their beauty from, I 
wonder ? I thought we had a monopoly of it at the 
Chateau.” And he bowed gracefully to the lady. 

“ Ever the courtier,” she replied gaily. “ What a 
quaint frock the child wears. My dear, where on 
earth did you get your clothes ? They make you 
look like a little old woman.” 

46 


AT TRIANON 


Eglee thus addressed answered simply — 

‘‘ Old Madame Gobel, who keeps the teinturerie in 
the Rue Fromenteau, lent them to me.” 

M. de Vaudreuil put an eyeglass in his eye and 
examined her critically ; the lady laughed aloud, a 
clear, bird-like carol. 

“ How delicious ! How primitive ! It’s one of the 
people — the real people. A veritable bit of canaille 
it’s a perfect curiosity here. Let us take it with us to 
Trianon and show it to the queen. What a joke ! ” 

‘‘ Splendid, Duchesse ! We’ll say to Her Majesty, 
‘Madame, we have brought you a gift, the prettiest 
little animal we found in the park, the oddest, tamest 
specimen your savage dogs of people ever littered.’ ” 

“ Capital ! capital ! ” laughed the lady. “ Will you 
come with us, child ? We’ll take you to see the 
queen. Just think what that will be to tell your friends.” 

A light leaped in Egl^e’s eyes and died again. She 
was afraid to go alone, and turned questioningly to 
Jean. M. de Vaudreuil guessed what was passing in 
her mind, and said — 

“ Nothing shall hurt you, little one. You shall 
have cake and wine and talk to the Queen of France 
and be brought back to your sweetheart safely. We 
couldn’t give him to the queen too, she has got enough 
of his kind already. Come with us, girl.” 

47 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ Come,” smiled the lady coaxingly. 

“ Yes, ril come with you,” said EgHe ; I know 
you won’t hurt me. You are beautiful.” 

The Duchesse flushed with pleasure. She was 
indeed beautiful ; many men had told her so in their 
graceful, courtly way, but their praise had fallen on 
ears that knew full well the value of Court flattery ; 
never before had the compliment been so sincere as in 
the mouth of this ignorant girl of the people. 

“ The child reminds me of what I can never forget, 
Duchesse,” said the gentleman. 

“ M. de Vaudreuil has the reputation for unques- 
tioned taste,” said the Duchesse, curtseying in acknow- 
ledgment of the compliment and with some asperity, 
for his graceful phrases jarred on her after the simple 
truth of Eglee. 

“And now for Trianon ! ” she added gaily. With 
a light laugh she took the arm that M. de Vaudreuil 
offered her and, followed by Eglee, they sauntered 
through the sylvan glades of the park. Jean watched 
them till they had disappeared out of sound and sight, 
and then he turned and went back to the Palace. For 
once his usual mixed contempt and fear of aristocrats 
was changed wholly into wonder. 

The frolicsome Duchesse subjected Eglde to a 
veritable bombardment of questions, asked with irre- 
48 


AT TRIANON 


sponsible levity. It was her way of satisfying herself 
that the jest she was preparing for the queen was 
a harmless one, tha^ Eglee was the ingenuous little 
vagabond she thought her. The child’s answers of 
laconic simplicity and unstudied effect seemed to give 
her satisfaction. To find pleasure in the intense 
ignorance of this child of the people was merely the 
effort of restless ennui. It was a new sensation to 
come upon a being in whom wonder was fresh — it 
was like discovering a lost emotion. To take Eglee 
to Trianon was to wile away an hour not only for the 
queen but for the whole Court. These aristocrats 
of the Court of Louis XVI. were the over-blown 
roses of the ancien regime; their fragrance, which in 
them was pleasure, was exhausted, life bored them 
unspeakably. Novelty alone could awaken any interest 
in them, hence the childishness of their amusements ; 
from the quackery of a Cagliostro to the playing at 
peasant of the Court, novelty was the sal volatile, the 
sole restorative of jaded joy. 

The path taken by the aristocrats led quickly to 
the Little Trianon. Its white walls glistened in the 
afternoon sun ; here, as at Versailles, all windows and 
doors were open. The voice of one singing at a harp 
came from within as they approached ; there was the 
click of billiard balls from a Roman pavilion half 

49 B 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


hidden in a leafy shade, mingled with the cool, 
spraying spout of a fountain. The voice at the harp 
ceased, and there was heard light laughter and 
a murmur like the drone of bees. Two ladies 
came out on the marble steps and, leaning over the 
balustrade, teased a silly little spaniel on the pavement 
beneath, which jumped up in the air with loud barks. 
The tiny court of the queen was in residence. 

As they walked across the esplanade in front of the 
house the Duchesse took Egl^e by the hand. 

“ Now, child, you shall see the queen,” she said. 

Egl6e’s heart beat quickly. The ladies teasing the 
dog over the balustrade looked question ingly at the 
Duchesse and M. de Vaudreuil as they passed with 
their curiosity. 

“ It’s a tame people’s-child that we found in the 
park and are going to give to the queen,” said 
M. de Vaudreuil. 

They went on into the house and entered a daintily 
furnished room which was filled with people. In the 
centre sat a woman with a proudly beautiful face, 
playing an aria of Gliick on a harp. It was the 
Queen of France. 

“ Ah, Duchesse ! ” she said, with a bright, frank 
smile of welcome. “Ah, M. de Vaudreuil!” 

The Duchesse curtseyed, M. de Vaudreuil placed 

50 


AT TRIANON 


his hand on his heart and bowed ; Egl6e, in her 
fantastic costume of which she was so proud, was' 
thrust forward. 

“ Vive la reine ! ” she said. It was the salutation 
of the people — she knew no other. 

It sounded odd and inappropriate. Everybody 
started and looked curiously at the girl, who was 
ill at ease and frightened. The queen laughed. 

‘‘ It is a present for you, Madame,” said the 
Duchesse. ‘‘We found it in the park ; it was lying 
fast asleep under a big tree in the most picturesque 
abandon. M. de Vaudreuil says it's tame.” 

“We thought the novelty of it, Madame, would 
drive away ennui. We brought it to amuse you for 
the afternoon,” added M. de Vaudreuil. 

“It was thoughtful of you both to think of my 
amusement. It is indeed a novelty,” said the queen. 

In the meantime a number of people had approached, 
and were eyeing Eglee through their glasses as if she 
were in reality a species of unfamiliar animal. A 
portly, handsome man patted her kindly on the head 
and asked her name and age. His face should have 
been the best known in France, but it was only the 
rich who had seen his portrait. 

“ That is the king, child,” whispered the Duchesse 
when he moved away. 


5 * 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Egl^e felt her whole body stiffen with fright, and 
she did not hear a question asked her by a graceful 
dandy who was regarding her through his eyeglass 
with affected interest. 

“ The child must be tired and hungry ; fetch her an 
orange or a cake, d’Artois,” said the queen. “ Come 
here, little one, and sit beside me.” 

M. de Vaudreuil instantly and gallantly placed a 
chair for Eglee next the queen ; half a dozen lords and 
ladies brought her fruit, cakes, and wine. The whole 
room formed a semi-circle round the two and asked 
Eglee questions, laughing gaily at her answers. 

“ And your only name is Eglee, and you have no 
father or mother, and you live in the Faubourg St. 
Antoine, and you have never confessed any sins,” said 
a handsome, military-looking man whom she heard 
addressed as the Baron de Besenval. “Well, you are 
a veritable little savage. Where do you expect to go 
when you die ? ” 

“To the devil,” said Egl^e simply. Her voice was 
still faint, she had not regained her assurance. 

There was a peal of laughter. The Baron de 
Besenval continued with mock solemnity — 

“ That is quite true, Eglee ; but how do you happen 
to be so certain of it ? Now I daresay I shall pay his 
Satanic Majesty a visit too one of these days, but I 

52 


AT TRIANON 


confess to a pleasant uncertainty about it. What 
makes you so sure ? ” 

“We all go to the devil vv^hen -we die in the 
P'aubourg,” replied Eglee. “Everybody says so; I 
suppose they know.” 

“ And have you any more such cheerful ideas in 
your Faubourg ? ” said the aristocrat. “ Now what, for 
instance, do you and your friends think of us f ” 

“ I know what I think, it isn’t what they think, 
though.” 

“ What do they think ? ” said the queen suddenly. 
“ What do they say of us, of me ? ” 

Eglee had never been trained in the art of conver- 
sation. In the Rue Fromenteau people said exactly 
what they thought when they did not lie ; she had no 
idea of tact; that it was possible to twist words to mean 
other than that what they were intended to mean was 
unknown to her. 

“ They curse the aristocrats ; they say they live on 
blood and the money of the people ; and that the 
Bastille was built to keep the poor people of the 
Faubourg from having their rights. And they call you 
the Austrian and the cause of Frissor, the tanner, dying 
of starvation last week. But I told Santerre it was 
a lie.” 

The gay, ironical laughter ceased, the Baron de 

53 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Bescnval muttered a curse to himself, all looked at the 
queen in dismay. Tears had gathered in her eyes, the 
exceeding gaiety of her expression had changed into 
one of exceeding sadness, she looked pale and weary, 
her beautiful hands lay in her lap listlessly. 

The Baron de Besenval rose angrily and said — 
“You called it tame^ de Vaudreuil. Who ever 
knew a cub of the people that was ever tame ? 
Savages ! ” 

The Duchesse became frightened; her jest had mis- 
carried, and she was for thrusting Egl6e out of the 
room, but the queen restrained her. Eglee realised 
that she had incurred the anger of the aristocrats, that 
she had made the queen cry, but how she could not 
understand. All her fear returned, and throwing 
herself at the queen’s feet she exclaimed wildly — 

“ Oh, Madame, do not let them take me to the 
Bastille ! Oh, save me, save me from the Bastille ! ” 
The whole room burst into an angry jargon. The 
Bastille was a word never mentioned at the Little 
Trianon. Marie Antoinette had willed that only the 
lightest and gayest of lives should be lived there. As 
if by magic the unwitting Egl6e had suddenly broken 
the harmony of the dainty nest of the birds-of- 
paradise. The king, who had left the room, now 
returned in the garb of a miller ; his sisters-in-law, the 
54 


AT TRIANON 


Comtesse de Provence and the Comtesse d’ Artois, 
were with him dressed like shepherdesses. 

‘‘What has happened?” said the king. Instantly 
the etiquette of Versailles fell on the Little Trianon ; 
it was no longer as the jolly miller with whom they 
were picturesquely playing peasant that they regarded 
him, but as the King of France, the arbiter of their 
destinies. The king noticed the difference in surprise. 

“ Antoinette,” he said lamely, “ I thought I was to 
be a miller.” 

“ Ah, sire,” replied the queen very sadly, “ my 
friends will never let me forget I am queen. Gentle- 
men, ladies, I beseech you, I entreat you, remember 
we are at Trianon now,” and bending over the 
terrified Egl6e she added soothingly — 

“ My child, you shall not be hurt, I promise you. 
Look at me, child, trust me. My heart goes out to 
all of you ; I wish you all to love me. It grieves me 
deeply, very deeply, to think that I should be so hated. 
I have never injured any one willingly in my life, 
believe me. Tell your friends what I have told you, 
try to make them think well of me. Oh, it is very 
sad to be so hated.” 

The queen’s manner and words calmed all Eglee’s 
fears ; she burst into sobs. 

“Oh, Madame, I love you. I know you are 

55 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


beautiful and good. I would die for you, Madame, 
sooner than grieve you. Oh, pardon me, pardon 
me!” 

“ Go, child ; you are forgiven if there was anything 
to forgive. What hurt me was that my people should 
hate me as to believe so ill of me. M. d’Amboise, 
take her away — see, I beseech you, that no harm 
comes to her.” 

The queen rose from her seat in an agitated manner 
and turned away. Even the roses of Trianon had 
thorns. 

The young Due d’Amboise led EgHe out of the 
room. He was a type of the jeunesse dork of the day ; 
his dress was the most elegant, his manner the most 
graceful, his appearance the most attractive, his morals 
the worst of the whole entourage of the queen. He 
was an aristocrat to the tips of his jewelled fingers ; 
born and bred in an atmosphere of splendour and of 
frivolity ; trained to regard licence as his special pre- 
rogative, to look upon life as the palace of the king 
of pleasure in which he was the favourite courtier. 
Lighter, more irresponsible creature there breathed 
not, the froth of froth on the sunniest sea, the balmiest 
breeze of the most perfumed atmosphere, the butterfly 
that is ignorant of the net about to entrap it, a figure 
in biscuit de Sevres stamped Louis Seize. It was not 

56 


AT TRIANON 


his fault but his destiny that had made him what he 
was ; the conditions that made the existence of such 
as Egl^e possible were necessary to the existence or 
such as he. Between them lay a gulf wider than the 
poles asunder, and for this very fact making each the 
stranger, the more curious to the other. To Eglee 
he was like a vision of an archangel out of the 
empyrean ; to the Due d’Amboise she was as the 
sudden thought of death at a high revel. He was 
ruffled in all his plumage, his perfumes had grown 
stale, he quivered with disgust ; she, too, quivered, 
but it was with an instinctive sense of her own 
inferiority, the despair of one who knows there is 
a heaven he is not worthy to enter. Two hey dues 
in the royal livery were sitting on a gilded settle in 
the entrance-hall. The Due d’Amboise summoned 
one with a glance. The man rose promptly and 
advanced. 

‘‘See that this child is taken away from here at 
once to wherever she wishes to go,” said the aristocrat, 
and he turned away. But Eglee plucked up all her 
courage and addressed him. 

“ Monsieur, will you tell the queen I shall never 
forget her, that I love her ? I will tell Santerre in 
our Faubourg that she is good and that they are lies, 
lies he has heard.” 


57 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


The young nobleman turned. Her voice, her 
wonderful voice, capable of such an infinite variety 
of expression, compelled him to turn. It had the 
power of moving him as well as his lackey ; there 
was a note in it he had never heard before. For an 
instant he regarded her critically ; she was incongruous 
in her shabby, soiled finery. He laughed in spite of 
himself. 

“You are an odd little creature ; are they all like 
you in your Faubourg ? Tell them to laugh down 
there ; it’s nicer than to wear such a solemn face as 
yours. Yes, I will tell the queen that you are a loyal 
subject.” 

Eglee’s heart was full of strange emotions which 
she was utterly incapable of understanding. Her eyes 
filled with tears, and she said in a wistful voice 
whose sincerity was convincing — 

“ Oh, monsieur, oh, monsieur ! ” 

There was a sense of absolute truth in the quaint, 
plaintive child that aroused in him too an emotion 
which he had never felt before — that of pity. He 
had a flash of another phase of life than his own of 
gay insincerity. Her earnestness, instead of vexing 
him, made him grave ; it was a novel sensation, and 
without another word or look he walked back into 
the room they had left. 


58 


AT TRIANON 


The heyduc questioned Eglee, spoke kindly to her, 
fed her with dainties, and handed her over to a groom 
to take her back to Versailles. As they left the Little 
Trianon there was a burst of the lightest laughter, and 
the queen, clad like the shepherdess of poetic fancy, 
descended the marble steps in a group of picturesque 
peasants. The inadvertent jest of the Duchesse was 
already forgotten. And once more the birds-of- 
paradise for whose special insouciante existence the 
world was made flitted in gay, gaudy glee. 


59 



PART II 


1793 



CHAPTER III 


FIVE YEARS LATER 

HE Paris of 1793 was a very different city from 



A that of 1788. The metamorphosis had been 
sudden, violent, and complete ; so rapidly had the 
times moved, in so fierce and excited a temper, that 
year-old events of once burning interest had been 
forgotten in the blaze of more recent conflagrations. 
With difflculty people remembered when there had 
been a king and all the paraphernalia of a court at 
Versailles; it was hard to realise that the stern, 
pitiless justice which proceeded from the Hotel de 
Ville, where the Committee of Public Safety sat ever 
vigilant, had once issued from the CEil-de-Boeuf and 
the lips of an absolute monarch. That belonged to 
the annals of history when men were slaves, the fall 
of the Bastille had crushed that out of the memory of 
men. Five years ago was the ancien rigime^ five years 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


ago was a horrible nightmare that was to be thought 
of with a shudder ; it was a dream from which France 
had awakened — gone, like all dreams, into nothingness. 

And France was awake at last after her nightmare 
slumber of a thousand years ! The marvel to all men 
was that she had awakened, not that she had slept so 
long. But she would never sleep again for fear of the 
old dream, the maddening terror of that dream with 
its Bastille, and famine, and wrong. So men had 
sworn, sealing their oaths in blood. Accursed, ay, 
thrice a traitor, was the citizen of free France who by 
thought or word or deed should attempt to cast men 
back into that pit of sleep. And as treachery lurked 
everywhere the Committee of Public Wakefulness 
had made terror the order of the day — terror to bid 
men sleep no more. 

Change, change, change ! In public and in private 
life, for the two were now one, such the miracle 
wrought by terror, the five years had passed in ever- 
lasting change. Only blood and fear changed not. 
The ghost of the Bastille, more terrible than the 
eight grim towers of the old fortress had ever been, 
would not, could not, be laid. La guillotine va 
toujours. 

Nor, as was natural, could people remain un- 
changed in these five years when the times played 

64 


FIVE YEARS LATER 


harlequin with such earnestness. Five years ago 
aristocrats flaunted themselves in the public view, now 
they have become emigrants, or are locked tight in 
Terror’s miniature Bastilles. The Faubourg St. 
Antoine five years ago did not go to Court, but since 
then it has visited the king both at Versailles and the 
Tuileries. Change, change, change ! Gone, for ever 
gone, are the pretty butterflies of yesterday with their 
pretty, dainty, whimsical ways. Minuets are no 
longer in fashion, the carmagnole is the rage. The 
golden voice of Mirabeau has been for ever hushed, and 
even Marat’s croak is stilled at last. Santerre, five 
years ago, gleaned Court gossip from an aristocrat’s 
lackey round the wash-tubs of Madame Laforge, 
to-day he is greater than any aristocrat, the first 
brewer to rise to the top of the world, the first too 
to refuse to become an aristocrat. Change, change, 
change. The very years have new names ; it is no 
longer 1793, but the Year One of Liberty. The 
world has started afresh, new months, new seasons. 
Five years ago there was peace, now there is war, 
civil and foreign ; then Paris slept in its bed the live- 
long night, now at any hour the tocsins may sound 
and Paris must shiver from its gentle slumber and 
cosy coverlids into the bleak streets. All titles and 
degrees of rank have ceased to exist. The Most 
65 F 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Christian Majesty is now plain Louis Capet. Five 
years ago ten thousand swords would have leapt from 
their scabbards to avenge one look that threatened 
with insult the highest and fairest lady extant, now 
those swords rust in their scabbards and the glass of 
fashion and the mould of form is a byword among her 
kind. The Rose of Trianon has become the Lily of 
the Conciergerie. 

Change, change, change ! The sound of the 
angelus has ceased, the cry of the cannibal is heard in 
the land. The gentlest maidens have drunk blood, 
and men have clad themselves in breeches of human 
leather. Quondam palaces have become prisons 
packed to the roof-tree ; very God Himself has been 
driven from His heaven with mockery and curses, the 
only divinity dwells now on the earth — divinity real 
and palpable, no longer unseen and mysterious, the 
divinity of the Right of Insurrection. The world has 
tumbled in the dark over a precipice — this is the 
appalling shriek of its fall. 

To Egl6e the five years had brought the ordinary 
vicissitudes of life. From the child of fifteen she had 
developed into a tall and finely-made woman of twenty. 
Between her and Jean there were five years of change. 
His visits to Paris after his master’s establishment had 
been moved to Versailles were of necessity of very 
66 


FIVE YEARS LATER 


rare occurrence. Egl^e did not forget Jean, but she 
lived in the Rue Fromenteau. Other men reminded 
her of their existence, and Jean all the while, the vain 
fellow, imitated Faublas after the manner of lackeys 
and aristocrats. There was no rupture between them, 
they merely drifted apart from lack of a common 
environment. 

The night the Bastille fell Madame Laforge 
tumbled head first into one of her tubs in apoplexy 
and was drowned ; then Eglde had no fixed abode. 
In a cellar in the Rue Fromenteau she kept what she 
called her property ; it consisted of a mattress, two 
chairs, some crockery, a looking-glass from which the 
quicksilver had run in places, and an old battered 
trunk containing her scant and shabby wardrobe. To 
Eglee this cellar and its effects were very precious ; 
they meant to her a pied-a-terre^ a shelter, a home. 
Her personal occupancy was uncertain, sometimes for 
days she would never visit this abode and she rarely 
slept in it ; but whenever she left it she was careful to 
lock the door as a precaution against thieves, of whom 
she had a dread. Everywhere in the Faubourg she 
was known, but her condition was one of such poverty 
and disreputable lowness, that the triumphant Revolu- 
tion which proclaimed equality to all failed to enhance 
her prestige. As one of the people in the triumph of 

67 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


the people she had learnt to carry herself without fear, 
and that was all the freedom she had gained from the 
Revolution. So poor was she that her costume was 
scarcely ever varied. At all times her head was 
covered with a red stocking liberty-cap cocked rakishly 
on her black locks, which were twisted into a loose 
knot at the neck. A bodice of some black material 
half exposed her ripe bosom, for she wore no neck- 
erchief like other women of the people, and her arms, 
also, were bare to the elbows above which in all sorts 
of weather the sleeves were rolled. And to complete 
her sansculottic appearance, a skirt of red serge of the 
shabbiest description reached half way to her ankles, 
while her naked feet were shoved into sabots. 

She was unquestionably one of the people, a splendid 
specimen of those strong women who, more than men, 
are the sinews of the working class — women who do 
men’s work even while they breed. A general air of 
lawlessness seemed to heighten her seductive physical 
charms, and her fine and expressive eyes gave to her 
irregular features a fascination which was more striking 
than beauty. As yet the life she led had left no traces 
of its dissipation j youth and superb health and strength 
rayed forth from her in every expression, every 
gesture. 

All the events that had shaken Paris for the last five 
68 


FIVE YEARS LATER 


years were familiar to her. She knew when the tocsin 
of the Faubourg would sound before it sounded, for 
she was one of the people of the Faubourg, she was 
intimate with the men who sounded the tocsin, she 
knew all that was going on. She had seen the Royal 
Family brought to Paris from Versailles ; it was her 
first view of the queen since that memorable day at 
Trianon. But now she was often to see Marie 
Antoinette, she took every possible occasion to see her. 
For over two years E glee’s daily walk had been past 
the palace and garden of the T uileries ; she had seen 
the queen on the return from the famous flight to 
Varennes; she had been in the mob that burst into 
the palace to force the king to accept the Constitution, 
she had passed under the very eyes of the queen then. 
On the tenth of August, when the Monarchy at last 
fell, she was at the door of the Legislative Assembly 
when royalty was huddled in ; and she had seen Marie 
Antoinette again and for the last time as the Royal 
Family were driven to the prison of the Temple. 
The morbid and overpowering curiosity that kept the 
queen for ever in her thoughts impelled her now to 
use every opportunity to glean news of the imprisoned 
victim of the people. To satisfy this strange fascina- 
tion Eglee haunted the neighbourhood of the Temple ; 
she made acquaintances among the jailers, and culti- 
69 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


vated one especially, a young man attracted by her, 
whose tongue she was thus the better able to loosen ; 
and from him she gleaned many scraps of information. 
To Eglee Marie Antoinette had become a fixed idea. 

She never dreamt of asking herself for a reason of 
this attraction to the queen ; it was an instinct, and the 
analysis of it would have been incomprehensible to her. 
The brief glimpse she had once had of the aristocratic 
world had aroused her emotional interest, and this 
interest was the effort of her dumb soul to make 
articulate the sense of the Beautiful within her. But 
Egl^e did not understand the psychological reason of 
her sensations, which perhaps made them the more 
powerful. The political events of the times were not 
in themselves of any interest to her, her condition was 
the same whether the CEil-de-Boeuf or the Faubourg 
governed France ; the Revolution had absolutely no 
meaning to her. It was beyond her conception how 
people so dazzling as the aristocrats should be 
accursed, yet it seemed perfectly natural to her that 
the high should be brought low, for all her life she 
had heard the fall of the aristocrats predicted, and now 
it had come to pass. Loyalty was an emotion she had 
never felt, it was unknown in her sphere ; she had 
therefore no passionate sympathy with royalists, but 
the sight of the aristocrats degraded to her level filled 
her with a fascination that revolted her. 


70 


FIVE YEARS LATER 


The three cardinal instincts of the people made the 
Revolution possible — wonder, pity, and revenge. In 
the people as a whole these instincts could be analysed 
with mathematical precision ; in Eglde they worked 
inversely to heredity. Only wonder had as yet been 
awakened in her, not the wonder of the people at 
themselves, that they the masters should have been 
slaves so long ; but a wonder of aristocrats whom she 
instinctively felt belonged to a higher species than 
herself. It was this wonder that had caused her to 
witness every savage event of the Revolution. 

The night before the September Massacres began a 
man in the Faubourg told her, if she wished to see the 
colour of aristocrat blood, to stand in front of the prison 
of La Force at a certain hour the next day. Wonder 
carried Eglee thither, not an instinct of brutality. She 
stood in a pool of blood — her sabots were stained with it 
for weeks after — and saw the butchery of the Princesse 
de Lamballe. Egl^e had often seen death and blood in 
the Faubourg ; she had seen Madame Laforge die, she 
had seen a man stabbed to death in a quarrel in the 
Rue Fromenteau ; she, too, had often seen cattle 
killed at the abattoir of Legendre. There was nothing 
naturally repulsive to her in the sight of death and 
blood. But this beautiful aristocrat, this manifest 
queen’s friend, shivering back in horror of the death 

71 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


awaiting her on the steps of La Force, then the death 
itself with its shameful indignities, and the head on 
the pike borne off to the Temple, awoke a sensation 
in Eglee so strong, so novel, so unaccountable to her- 
self as to terrify her. She burst into tears. Wonder 
in travail had given birth to pity. A man spattered 
with blood accosted her jocosely ; she turned on him, 
dry-eyed in a moment, and in a shrill voice showered 
on him in her fearless, people’s way all the invectives 
in the vocabulary of the Faubourg St. Antoine. 

From that day the aristocrats and the imprisoned 
queen had a new meaning for Eglee. That gay- 
plumaged world which had excited her wonder was 
now stripped naked before her eyes, humiliated 
beneath even her level. She pitied it. If she had 
been accused of being a royalist she would have been 
scornfully amused and resentful at being made fun of. 
How could she belong to the same sphere as Marie 
Antoinette ? In her opinion the Widow Capet was 
still the Queen of France. She despised the men of 
Faubourg who were forever prating of equality, their 
conceited ignorance was ridiculous. As if such a thing 
could be possible ; ignorant as she was she knew better 
than that. Familiarity with her own sphere bred 
contempt for it. The Revolution disgusted her. 

By all the laws of heredity and association EgHe 
72 


FIVE YEARS LATER 


ought to have been one of the Vengeresses of the 
Revolution. Every quality she possessed conspired to 
make her one of the tigresses of the Terror ; her 
place was in the galleries of the Jacobins applauding 
Robespierre and Marat, at the Revolutionary Tribunal 
intimidating the judges and jury and tipping the scales 
of justice as she willed, in the Place de la Revolution 
grouped with the tricoteuses and poissardes round the 
scaffold and gloating in the dithyram of the guillotine. 
Instead, she consorted with jailers to satisfy her morbid 
curiosity about Marie Antoinette, and followed the 
tumbrils to see how aristocrats bore themselves on 
their way to death. To account for Eglee, as men 
have tried to account for Mirabeau or Danton, that is, 
to excuse her, is a vain thing. She too was a 
phenomenon of the dread Revolution, a fellow-mortal, 
for all that Nature cast her in a mould of the 
meanest clay. 

In such a creature all instincts must be crude and 
therefore powerful. Wonder and pity were developed 
in her, there remained but the instinct of love to be 
awakened, the most natural of all, and one which she 
was capable of feeling to an eminent degree. Her 
sentiment for Jean had been that of a child to one who 
is kind to it ; for her other paramours, who it might 
almost be said had at one time or another been the 
73 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 

male population of the Faubourg, Eglie had always felt 
kindly. She had a naturally bright disposition, she 
liked the companionship of men, and had a great deal 
of native tact in her dealings with them, hence her 
relations with her so-called lovers had been most 
friendly. In a different social sphere Egl^e would 
have been romantic ; she lacked the education that 
would have fired her imagination, her mind conceived 
but few pictures, and those were instincts rather than 
fancies. The young Due d’Amboise had, strange to 
say, left the most lasting impression upon her of all 
the men with whom she had ever been thrown in 
contact. His doings, enlarged on by Jean, interested 
her from the first ; the glimpse of him at the masked 
ball, brief as it was, had fascinated her, and the meeting 
with him at Trianon under such extraordinary circum- 
stances had ever remained fresh in her memory. He 
was connected with the most important events in her 
life. She had learnt that he had left France, but 
beyond the memory of him Eglee took no further 
interest in him. Perhaps the fascination of Marie 
Antoinette for her took the place in her heart of love 
not yet kindled. In such a strong, healthy girl all 
natural dormant instincts by reason of the life she led 
would intensify those already aroused. Unknown to 
herself love was struggling to find a voice in her poor, 
74 


FIVE YEARS AFTER 


benighted soul ; wonder and pity were its forerunners, 
and till it came they were doing its duty as best they 
could. This was Eglee’s psychology. 

The Revolution was an anvil on which character 
was forged. Who can doubt but that for the holo- 
caust of France Madame de Stael would have been 
merely another of many witty grandes dames who 
played gracefully with brains ; that Madame Roland 
would have continued to take the quiet interest of 
an educated woman in politics ; that Charlotte Corday 
would have lived an uneventful provincial life ; and 
that Egl^e, a fille de joie of the Faubourg St. Antoine, 
would never have become possessed of a fixed idea 
that forced her, too, to play a part in that drama 
whose drop-curtain was the blood-stained blade of 
the guillotine ? 

In the Year One of Liberty all things were possible, 
it was the heyday of Nature. All the instincts of 
men were emancipated from conventions and flourished 
as in the Age of Stone ; there was no longer any law 
to compel men to be other than what Nature meant 
them to be. Civilisation may weep over the Marie 
Antoinette of the Conciergerie, more impressive in 
her degradation than in the days when it seemed 
as natural to offer her a throne as any other woman 
a chair ; it may shriek over the monstrosities of 
75 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Marat and the still more infamous Pere Duchene. 
But they are facts which no weeping and shrieking 
can alter. On that great anvil of the Revolution 
all manner of men and women were forged — Marie 
Antoinettes, Rolands, Cordays, EgRes. Once more 
in the created world Nature had appeared and ex- 
claimed — 

“Behold me, I am here. It is I that am from 
everlasting to everlasting, that hold the keys of 
destiny in my hands. You religions, you civilisa- 
tions, you conventions, you daemonic upheavals, it 
is I that made you all. You are my puppets ; you 
shall do my will when I command. I am not the 
golden calf Art, the ritual of whose vain worship 
is as you may choose to make it. I am fact, fact, 
fact ; though long absent, I have returned. You may 
weep and shriek, but you shall acknowledge me I ” 


76 


CHAPTER IV 

IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 

“ T TELL you, Couchette, I wish the Holy Virgin 

■L had given me brains instead of this,” said 
Egl6e, smiting her breast scornfully with her fist. 
“ Ah, if I had brains, do you think I should fail like 
your clever Toulan ? ” 

“ What’s the use of fretting ? ” answered Couchette, 
“ we haven’t got brains, and the Holy Virgin is too 
much of an aristocrat to heed our prayers. Besides, 
bastards like us couldn’t pray anyhow. No one ever 
baptized us.” 

“ Who’s talking of praying, you fool ? If prayers 
were any use don’t you suppose the queen would be 
well across the Rhine by now, instead of being shut 
up in the Temple ? I say, Couchette, I’ve heard 
more news of her,” and Egl^e, lowering her voice, 
continued in a confidential whisper, ‘‘they have 
77 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 

taken the Dauphin away from her and are half- 
starving her. It’s to break her spirit. Gontran, the 
municipal guard, told me that nobody would recognise 
her, she’s so changed. I asked him if she wasn’t still 
beautiful, and he says old Mother Manette who sells 
sausages down the street is better to look at I And 
her clothes are not as good as ours. She wears a 
black dress that she has worn ever since the king 
died ; the skirt got caught the other day on a chair ; 
there was a hole in it that long,” measuring, ‘‘ and 
she had to mend it ; for the Convention said, when 
she asked for new clothes, that there were Frenchmen 
dying for France who had no shoes on their feet. 
Ah, my God ! she had clothes and jewels enough 
when I saw her at Trianon. And beautiful — oh, la la 
la. Couchette ! It was better than any dream I ever 
had. She put her hand on my head, so, and said, 
‘ Nothing shall hurt you, my child, I promise you ; 
and I want you to believe I am good and love you 
all ; nothing hurts me so much as to be hated. Tell 
this to your friends, and try to make them love me.* 
Then ” 

‘‘ Did she have beautiful rings ? ” interrupted 
Couchette irrelevantly. 

Egl^e went on with impatience — 

Can’t you listen and wait till I finish before you 

78 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


begin to ask questions ? Of course she had rings — 
enormous ones — pearls and diamonds and emeralds 
and six pearl necklaces, too,” Eglee added, with an 
exaggeration that was impressive. “ She was just like 
the print I saw in the Palais Royal — Marie Antoinette 
de Lorraine d’Autriche, Reine de France.” 

“ Pearls are unlucky,” said Couchette. 

“ Well, you little fool, what if they are — is that 
anything against her ? Now you’ve put me out in 
my story. I forget what I was saying, but I should 
like to tickle Hubert, Robespierre, and Fouquier- 
Tinville in the heart like that girl from Caen who 
made Marat taste his own medicine.” 

We could never get near therriy^ said Couchette, 
“ they are too grand for us.” 

“ Oh, for brains, brains ! ” cried EgHe, “I want to 
do something for the queen — I must. Couchette, she 
is so beautiful and so good. They are all lies, lies, 
lies they tell of her. Don’t we know the Faubourg ? 
— lies, I tell you.” 

“ I wish I had seen her, Egl^e, if she is so beautiful 
and good.” 

Ah, I have it,” cried EgHe, who was not listening 
to her friend, “see, Couchette, we will walk all over 
Paris and cry, ‘Vive la reine!’ and when people 
gather round us, as they are sure to do, I will talk to 
79 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


them of the queen, and you shall back me up. Let 
us begin at once 1 ” 

The idea did not strike Couchette with favour. 

“ If we cry ‘Vive la reine ! ’ they will imprison us,” 
she said. 

Egl^e laughed scornfully. 

“You are a fool ! Imprison us as what ? We are 
not aristocrats ; the stupid Faubourg, that thinks it 
knows so much and doesn’t know anything, knows 
that. Filles de joie like us are not even Suspects, and 
if Hubert arrested us he would be laughed out of 
Paris. No, Couchette, we will do as I say ; come, let 
us start at once.” 

“ Egl6e,” suggested Couchette timidly, for she was 
afraid of her masterful companion — “ Egl6e, you know 
ever so much more than I do, you have seen the queen 
and she has spoken to you and you have seen aristocrats 
too, you are wise, but what good can you do ? To 
cry ‘ Vive la reine I ’ in the streets won’t get the 
queen out of prison, and it will surely get us into 
trouble. Hubert will have us put out of the way 
somehow to stop it. Eglde, you have made me love 
the queen, but I am afraid of Samson with his bloody 
hands,” and the girl shuddered. 

“ Of course you are afraid,” replied Egl6e, “why, it 
takes an aristocrat to show us how to die. Did you 
So 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 

ever see one yet that looked a coward in the Place de 
la Revolution ? But, see, my friend, you have got to 
do one of two things, for we must help the queen in 
some way. You have got to strengthen that cowardly 
people’s heart of yours and cry ‘ Vive la reine ! ’ with 
me all over Paris, or go this night and stab Hubert as 
he leaves the Jacobins. ‘Vive la reine!* is easier 
and safer, my friend. Oh, for brains, just for an 
hour I Couchette, when Toulan failed and I saw 
Madame de Jarjayes at the Revolutionary Tribunal 
looking so soft and gentle and yet so full of courage, 
I said to myself, ‘ Why shouldn’t I do something for 
the queen too, to prove my love ? If a soft little 
creature like Madame de Jarjayes can try, why not 
Egl6e, who is strong and not afraid of any Hubert or 
his guillotine ? * I have walked the streets for hours, 
and sat alone in the garden of the Luxembourg, 
thinking, thinking, thinking. O God ! it was tor- 
ture. I have all the courage, all the opportunities; 
I should never be suspected ; I have everything 
necessary to save the queen — everything save the 
brains. O God ! O God 1 ” 

Egl^e smote her fists together savagely, and 
Couchette looked at her with fear. 

“Oh, Eglee,” she said, “the queen must indeed 
be very beautiful and good for you to feel so. You 
would not be at all afraid to die for her ! ” 

8i 


o 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ Die ? ” cried Egl^e fiercely. “ I and you are dirt 
under her feet ! Die ? Why, that’s what we are 
made for ! Besides,” she added soothingly, for the 
greater encouragement of her companion, think 
what we are. The guillotine is too proud to stomach 
«r.” 

“ But, Eglee, what has made you so suddenly wish 
to save the queen ? You never spoke like this 
before when we pitied her ; now you are for doing 
something at once, and you talk of dying for her; 
you frighten me.” 

“ I will tell you,” replied Egl6e, and the passionate 
intensity with which she spoke thrilled the irresolute 
Couchette. “Yesterday at sunset I was going to the 
Jacobins. I hadn’t eaten anything for the day and I 
was hungry. I knew I should find Laroche in the 
gallery, and he would give me supper, and his bed 
has blankets. As I turned into the Rue St. Honor6 
I heard cries in the distance of ‘ Vive la R^publique I ’ 
We know what that means at sunset, don’t we ? I 
saw the crowd coming my way and dancing the 
carmagnole. It Came slowly, for the tumbrils were so 
full the horses could just draw them. There were six. 
Couchette, packed full. In the first five all were 
aristocrats, men and women together. Some were 
chatting and laughing, some looked as proud, as proud 
82 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


as the ones I saw at Trianon, and their clothes were 
so fine, too — oh, la la ! it seemed a pity to wear such 
fine clothes to have them all messed with blood at 
the guillotine. There wasn’t one that looked afraid. 
It was easy enough to tell they were aristocrats — they 
couldn’t hide that, I wondered to myself what it 
must seem like to be in a tumbril, going down to the 
Place de la Revolution. Afraid of that mob ? Not 
I, Couchette ; they are the same people as we are. 
Afraid ? I would spit on them from the tumbril that 
carried me. Heavens ! I’ve seen so many heads fall into 
Samson’s basket. Couchette. In the last t\imbril there 
was a girl packed in among murderers and forgers 
of assignats. She was dressed all in black — it was 
mourning for some of her kin, perhaps — and she was 
smiling, oh ! such a sweet smile, and there was a look 
in her face. Couchette, as if she was expecting some- 
thing that was going to give her joy. She was 
almost like a child, she was so young and oh ! so 
beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes from her, and I 
followed the crowd to the Place de la Revolution. 
It was a beastly sight ; they threw the bodies and 
heads back into the tumbrils anyhow, in a stinking, 
bloody heap. It made me feel my neck to be sure 
my own head was on all right. I am sick of this 
Revolution, it is nothing but blood, blood, blood ; 

83 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


and as for a sight to see, why, Legendre might as 
well bring his cattle and slaughter them in the Place 
de la Revolution. But the girl didn’t even turn pale 
while the guillotine was falling with that click, rush, 
and thud. She stood with her hands folded on her 
bosom and her face turned to the sky, still smiling 
that strange smile. The man who was just before 
her had murdered his wife, somebody said, and he 
fainted with terror, the cur ! and they cut off his head 
without his knowing it. When Samson called her 
number she mounted the steps quickly, but slipped 
on the top in some blood — the scaffold was swimming 
in it. Samson picked her up with his bloody hands, 
and I could see the marks of his fingers where he 
touched her. Poor thing ! she was pale enough then, 
and I thought she was going to faint, but not she. 
I don’t know her name, and nobody could tell why 
she was to be guillotined. The only reason was that 
she was an aristocrat. Then, I don’t know what 
made me, but I hated myself for being in that vile 
mob, and I hated the brutes that were cursing her, 
and I shouted out at the top of my voice, ‘ Enough, 
enough, brutes ! canaille ! That’s a morsel too 
dainty for our bloody glutton of a guillotine ! ’ But 
while I shouted the words her head fell into the 
basket. Ugh ! ugh ! ” 


84 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


Egl6e stopped with a shudder. Couchette looked 
at her in fascination, 

“The brutes wanted to mob me, but I wasn’t 
afraid of them. No one dared to touch me, I can tell 
you, for my blood was up. I was ready to fight any 
one of them, and the cowards knew it. I forced my 
way through the crowd, and on the outside I heard a 
man say, ‘ While they are about it they might throw 
in the Austrian she-devil ; I want to see the colour 
of her blood.’ I yelled in his ears, ‘ Vive la reine, 
you pig ! ’ How he jumped then and cursed me ! 
And then I went across the Place de la Revolution 
laughing. That’s why I wish to do something for 
the queen, for they’ll have her next. I tell you. 
Couchette, I hate the people with their citoyen this 
and their citoyenne that. I hate them ! ” 

This conversation took place one September after- 
noon of the Year One of Liberty in Egl^e’s cellar in 
the Rue Fromenteau. Couchette, like Egl6e, was a 
fille de joie of the Faubourg St. Antoine, a waif of 
seventeen, to whose degraded origin no clue existed. 
Egl6e had once befriended her in a street brawl, the 
justice of which the strong girl of the people did not 
examine. Two women hammering the life out of 
another, and that other bleeding from a knife thrust, 
was sufficient cause for Eglee to interfere. Her 

85 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


timely assistance probably saved Couchette’s life. As 
it was, when the women were driven away, the girl 
lay fainting in the street. The life in the Rue 
Fromenteau was not adapted to develop the quality of 
tenderness in the nature of its inhabitants, and Egl^e, 
secure in her own great physical strength, was the 
last to yield to the soft impulses of humanity. The 
brawl in which she had just taken part was an ordinary 
one of the slums ; victory was the chief thought in 
her mind. The idea of playing the Good Samaritan 
never occurred to her, and if it had, she would have 
dismissed it with contempt. She had no intention of 
bringing the ridicule of her quarter upon herself by 
going about rescuing maltreated filles de joie. But in 
this case there was a desperate helplessness in the fragile 
child lying in a pool of blood at her feet, and before 
moving away Egl6e stooped down and staunched the 
wound. The girl, who had fainted, opened her eyes 
in which abject terror was expressed, and clung feebly 
to Egl^e’s skirt. This mute appeal to her protection 
touched Eglde, and she took Couchette to her cellar 
and placed the girl on her own mattress. Since then 
Couchette had been as clay in Egl^e’s hands. From 
the day she had entered Eglde’s cellar it had been her 
home. She knew no other, for Couchette had no 
“property” like EgUe 5 she carried all hers on her 
86 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


person and previously had slept where chance 
willed. 

The connection thus formed between the fragile, 
timid waif, so utterly unable to fight the fierce battle 
of life in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and Egl6e 
developed into friendship — the friendship of two 
outcasts instinctively drawn together by the wretched- 
ness of their lives. No terms of endearment, no 
tokens of affection passed between these two, but the 
bond that united them was none the less strong. To 
a passionate nature like Egl^e’s the burden of her 
thoughts was a weight almost intolerable to carry 
alone. She kept her feelings locked tightly in her 
own bosom, for she was not one to lightly expose 
them, and there they tortured her with their in- 
creasing perplexity and fierceness. In her all the 
instincts of a powerful and ignorant soul were at last 
awakened, and love, the greatest of these, was starving. 
It was this starving instinct of love that made her 
idolatry of the queen possible, that made the attach- 
ment of Couchette acceptable. By degrees Eglde 
confided all her thoughts to her devoted companion, 
who loyally accepted all that Egl^e said as infallible, 
and who shared the same scorn of the Revolution and 
admiration for the queen. When Egl^e said they 
must do something to aid the queen, it did not strike 

87 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Couchette as absurd, but as impossible. Timid and 
irresolute as she was, she would try to save the queen 
even to the length of dying for her, if EgHe ordered 
it. For so complete was Eglee’s ascendancy that it 
would be easier for Couchette to die than to disobey 
her. The tale of the girl in the tumbril going to the 
guillotine fired her courage as it was meant to do, but 
it was not so much the tale as the magic of EgHe’s 
voice that nerved her, Egl6e inspired her with both 
love and fear. 

In a fit of futile impatience at the fate that gave her 
desires she could not realise, Egl^e flung herself face 
down on her mattress. For many minutes she lay 
there motionless trying to puzzle out some scheme, 
some plot to save the queen. Couchette watched her 
silently, afraid to speak. Suddenly Egl6e sat up, she 
had an idea. 

“ Couchette,” she whispered, glancing towards the 
shut door and a small iron-barred window near the 
ceiling, out of which nobody had ever looked, ‘‘ if I 
could get into the Temple I could change clothes 
with the queen.” 

Couchette regarded her with surprise. 

“It would be possible for the queen to pass out as 
me, and come here. Who would ever think of look- 
ing here for her ? It would be the safest place in 
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IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


Paris for her to hide till she could manage to escape. 
Of course when they found me, they would — pst ! ” 
And Egl^e made a sign of decapitation. 

‘‘It seems to me,” said Couchette, lowering her 
voice, and, like Egl6e, glancing suspiciously at the 
door and window, “ that they would search here 
first, and they would suspect me as your friend.” 

Egl^e’s face dropped, she had not thought of that 
possibility. 

“ You are right, I am a fool. Oh, for the brains of 
Toulan and de Jarjayes ! We shall have to stick 
Hubert like a pig after all.” 

“ There are many more like Hubert,” said 
Couchette, “ we thought Marat was the only villain, 
but this Hebert is worse ; and depend on it after him 
there are others just as bad.” 

The girl’s practical argument was discouraging, 
and Egl6e pressed her fingers against her temples and 
moaned. 

There was a knock on the door. The two would- 
be conspirators looked at each other guiltily. The 
knock was repeated, and then Egl^e rose to her feet, 
and with one stride stalked to the door and flung it 
open. The next moment she burst into wild, un- 
controlled laughter. 

“ Iv’s old Mother Manette ! Come in, come in.” 

89 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


A ferocious woman of about fifty entered. She was 
one of the characters of the Rue Fromenteau, and held 
in esteem by Patriotism. After the September 
Massacres she closed her cook-shop where for years 
in a dingy, greasy room she had manufactured 
sausages, the succulence of which had gained her a 
reputation and a living in the Faubourg. The spirit 
of the Revolution had entered her soul so that she 
could no longer attend to her business. She was 
sacrificing herself to the Revolution, she said, and, 
worked to a state of frenzy, she spent her days round 
the guillotine, knitting stockings for the soldiers on the 
frontiers, and her nights in the galleries of the Jacobins. 
She, too, had a fixed idea : it was a ghoulish glee in the 
spilling of blood. Her naturally repulsive aspect was 
heightened by the dress she wore, which was that of 
the carmagnole complke, A red nightcap, a sort 
of stocking liberty-cap such as Egl6e wore, covered 
her thin, dishevelled grey locks ; for bodice she wore a 
woollen tricolor spencer that buttoned up to her chin, 
and a blood-coloured handkerchief was knotted loosely 
round her neck ; her nether limbs were covered with 
a skirt of coarse black cloth that reached to her sabots ; 
while about her waist was buckled a belt of human 
leather, of which she was particularly proud, and in it 
was stuck a long, murderous knife, used, it was 
90 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


rumoured, with effect in the butchery of the previous 
September. Clad in this fantastic guise her tall, gaunt 
figure was terrifying ; she seemed scarcely human, and 
this impression was accentuated by her long, red-brown 
face, whose expression was malevolent in repose and in 
animation rabid. Her voice, too, by reason of shriek- 
ing round tumbrils, and in the frequent insurrections, 
was hoarse almost to inarticulation. As she stood in 
Egl6e’s bare cellar she was not unlike a caged wolf 
that had been starved to madness and in some previous 
tame moment decked out in the costume of a 
Punchinello. 

In spite of, or perhaps on account of, her terrible 
appearance, she had acquired power, and her unques- 
tioned patriotism had given her a prestige that made 
her respected by Marat and made use of by the 
infamous Hubert. Since the fall of the Bastille the 
Citoyenne Manette had never known what it was to 
be afraid of mortal man till the terrible eye of Danton 
had fallen on her in a tumult in the Jacobins and his 
lionlike voiqe roared her out of the galleries. In him 
she had recognised her master, one who could crush 
her if he so deigned ; and she feared him. A bully 
and a coward, this woman was one of those furies 
that are instinctively associated with all the horrible 
paraphernalia of the Terror. Her kind was common 

91 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


enough ; it furnished the tipstaves of the Revolutionary 
Tribunal, the bodyguards of the guillotine. It was 
to this class that Egl^e and Couchette should have 
belonged, into such as Manette that they should have 
developed by all the laws of custom and environment. 

“ Good-day, Citoyenne Egl^e,” said the woman, in 
her hoarse voice as she entered, seating herself on one 
of E glee’s two chairs, “how goes trade ? ” 

“ What’s that to you ? ” replied the girl gruffly. 
“You didn’t come here to know that. What’s your 
news ? ” 

“The Revolution doesn’t seem to have done you 
any good,” said the other, paying no heed to the 
insult, and casting a glance round the bare warren. 

“ No,” answered Egl^e. “ A curse on the Revolu- 
tion ! Little it has done for me. Aristocrat blood 
has not made me any cleaner or any happier, nor you 
either, Citoyenne Manette, to look at you.” 

Couchette snickered. The woman looked at the 
two girls evilly, their plain contempt angered her. 

“ People have gone to the guillotine for less than 
that,” she cried. 

Eglde burst into a peal of ribald laughter. 

“ They were not like then. Why, what are we^ 
I should like to know? We are even beneath the 
people, we are ; when they begin to guillotine the 
92 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


dogs, then I’ll think of my head. Who the devil do 
you think the like of me is, old Manette ? Keep 
your threats for the Revolutionary Tribunal ; and now- 
come, what brought you here ? ” And Egl^e, with 
her arms on her hips, boldly confronted her visitor. 

“ An old friend of yours is in Paris, came back two 
days ago, nearly dead with a colic caught splashing 
about in the mud on the frontiers after the cursed 
Austrians. A batch of soldiers came back from the 
army unable to fight any more, and the generous 
Republic has rewarded them as they deserve, the brave 
fellows. Jean Laforge is the man I speak of ; you 
ought to remember him.” 

“ So Jean is back again,” said Egl6e. “ I should 
like to see him.” 

“ That’s what I have come about,” croaked the 
Citoyenne Manette. 

“Well, you’ve been long letting it out. Why 
didn’t you say so at first without all your cackle 
about the cursed Revolution ? ” retorted Eglde. 

The woman paid no heed to her and continued — 

“ He sent me to you, he wants to see you. He is 
a municipal guard for the present at the Temple.” 

“ At the Temple ! ” echoed Egl^e. 

“ Yes, and hard enough life too watching Louis 
Capet’s surly widow.” 


93 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ I’ll go at once,” cried Egl6e. “ Come, clear 
out, both of you. I never like to leave the door 
unlocked. There are too many thieves in the 
Faubourg.” 

“ But can’t you wait and hear why he wants to see 
you ? ” said Manette angrily, objecting to be treated 
in this contemptuous way by such as Eglde. 

“ No, not I ; he’ll tell me fast enough. Keep your 
voice, Citoyenne, for the Place de la Revolution; 
you’ll need what little you have for the (J!a-ira this 
evening, when the tumbrils come.” And Egl^e, 
pushing both Manette and Couchette out of the room 
and locking the door, mounted the dark and damp 
stone stairs that led to the Rue Fromenteau. 

Manette could have killed her willingly. Egl6e’s 
contempt she could endure with difficulty, but the 
allusion to her voice, the loss of which in that 
edacious and quick-moving Revolution stripped her 
of nearly all her power, stung her to the quick. She 
would be revenged on this upstart, this mere fille de 
joie, who dared despise and insult her, 

“Now we’ll go to the Temple,” said Egl^e to 
Couchette, when they stood in the street. “Shout 
for me at the guillotine this evening, Citoyenne,” 
she added maliciously as, thrusting her arm in 
Couchette’s, she moved away, 

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IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


But Manette was not to be disposed of lightly in 
this free manner. 

‘‘I am going to the Temple too, you slut. I shall 
denounce you as a suspect, as a traitor, as a secret 
aristocrat. You shall suffer for your insolence ! The 
Citoyenne Manette is not to be treated like a dog ! 
Ha ! even in the Convention they tremble at my 
name.” 

It was a challenge that the fearless Egl6e at once 
took up. 

All right,” she cried, turning round on her heel 
and swinging Couchette with her, “ we’ll go to the 
Temple together. They say you can tell a dog by 
his company. The great revolution has made Manette 
the sister of Eglde, the fille de joie. Come on, my 
dear.” And Egl^e with a wild laugh linked her other 
arm in Manette’s as tightly as if they were chained 
together. 

The girl was in the dangerous mood of the people 
when torture pleases them. In her eyes the dread 
Manette was a bully whom she despised, whom she in 
nowise feared. Like all Celts, she knew the poison 
that was in the sting of ridicule. Refined irony was 
not her forte, nor would it have been effectual in the 
Faubourg St. Antoine ; but she was mistress of a 
brutal and coarse mockery. 

95 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Rage rendered Manette speechless, which increased 
her fury all the more. Struggle as she might she 
could not free herself from Eglee’s vice-like arm. 
Couchette piped her shrill laugh ; the strength and 
fearlessness of her friend made her courageous. 

“ Vive la reine ! ” shouted Egl6e. It was a cry 
never before heard in the Faubourg. In Egl6e’s 
ringing voice it acted like a tocsin. People in the 
street stopped and turned. Swiftly a knot, then a 
group, then a crowd was formed around the three 
women. 

“ Vive la reine ! A has la revolution ! Vive la 
monarchie absolue 1 ” pealed Eglde’s voice. It was as 
if she would rouse the entire Faubourg. 

The traitorous cry made the sensitive nerves of the 
people, who, as Hugenin said, carried the tocsin in 
their hearts, vibrate. The fearless effrontery of it was 
like teasing to a lion, but coming from her it was 
mere ribaldry, the loud, meaningless gabble of a fille 
de joie. 

Egl6e shouted her treachery. Couchette laughed 
and swayed herself wantonly on one arm of her friend, 
while on the other Manette struggled to free herself. 
The three women were well known. It was evidently 
a drunken row, and the capricious crowd looked on 
with amused curiosity. 


96 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


‘‘ Citizens,” cried Egl6e, laughing in that free, bold 
way of hers, what a joke ! See, Citoycnne Manette 
arm in arm with one who cries ‘ Vive la reine ! ’ ” 
And again her voice rang out like a silver trumpet. 
“ She loves aristocrats, old Manette ; she can’t keep 
her eyes off them. She loves to shout long life to 
them and down with the people, but she hasn’t any 
voice now — she has shouted it all away — so she got 
me to shout for her. It’s the cry she loves, eh 
Manette ? And, citizens, now she is sorry, for she’s 
afraid they’ll arrest her as a Suspect if she’s seen with 
me. Oh, la, la, la ! with me ! ” 

Eglee’s unbridled merriment was contagious. The 
crowd broke out too in laughter. It was easy to see 
that Egl6e was merely teasing Manette. 

“The fille de joie is drunk,” was all the comment 
made. “ She will kill herself with drink. It’s only 
her drunken fun.” 

And entering into the spirit of Egl^e’s humour the 
crowd began to poke fun at Manette. The woman’s 
rage was boundless. She tried to tell the people the 
truth ; she would have Eglee torn to pieces then and 
there. But her croaking voice was ineffectual in the 
hubbub. At that moment she would have given the 
rest of her life for such a voice as Egl^e’s. There 
were tones in it whose power she recognised — power 

97 H 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


that Robespierre, and even the great Danton himself, 
would respect. 

Having satisfied its curiosity the crowd dribbled 
away. Then Egl^e released the woman, and, arm-in- 
arm with Couchette, ran down the street with a wild 
and bacchanalian yell. Manette was free, but hatred 
and speechless rage held her rooted to the spot. She 
had been made a public sport of, and by an Egl^e. 
The poison had been taken from her fang. She 
understood the motive ; the girl was, as she had said, 
too mean to be even suspected. The guillotine might 
indeed refuse her, but Manette plucked her long and 
murderous knife from her belt of human leather and 
shook it threateningly at the girl’s rapidly disappearing 
figure. 

At the mention that Jean was employed at the 
Temple a sudden impulse had seized Eglee. Here 
was the very opportunity that she longed for to save 
the queen ; Jean and she between them would concoct 
a plot that should not fail. Already in her strong and 
impetuous imagination she saw the queen free ; it gave 
an elation to her spirits that was uncontrollable. Egl6e 
never for an instant dreamt that Jean might refuse to 
aid her ; she knew his decided proclivity to a life of 
ease and was certain that the hard surface of the 
^ ' 98 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


Republic had long since tempered his animosity to the 
aristocrat class ; moreover, the reward he would reap 
would dazzle him. 

“ Couchette,” she said as they went, “ didn’t I 
settle old Manette well ? And do you know what 
Jean at the Temple means ? Why, it’s the brains I 
wanted. You don’t know how clever he is.” 

Do you mean that you and he will get the queen 
out of prison ? ” said Couchette, her lesser intelligence 
only faintly grasping the situation. 

Hush ! ” whispered Egl6e. Not so loud.” 

The grim old palace of the Knights Templars 
towered like another Bastille in the very heart of 
Paris. Long untenanted, given over to the ghosts of 
the remote past, its frowning, saturnine walls had no 
significance to the people. Dreary symbol of tyranny 
that it was, it had escaped their destructive wrath — 
forgotten like a garment that has long been rejected. 
More ill-omened relic of the ancien regime there did not 
exist in Paris in the Reign of Terror ; after the deep, 
silent sleep of three centuries, sleep haunted with the 
horrible nightmare of the Saint Bartholomew Massacre, 
it had awakened to resume its bloody Hie, A very 
Moloch of stone, it had in the name of the old kings 
devoured the people, and now in the name of the 
people it devoured the kings ; it had in turn re-echoed 
L.ofC. 99 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


with the shrieks of the massacred and witnessed the 
martyrdom of royalty. The palace of Nemesis, the 
part it played in French history, was hoary with 
crime ; far more than the Bastille it symbolised 
tyranny — the tyranny of tyranny. Wrong. 

Ever since its doors had closed on Marie Antoinette 
it had drawn Eglee like a magnet. She passed and 
repassed it daily, gazing with curiosity at its windows 
in the hope of a glimpse of the august lady immured 
within its peaked walls. From close observation she 
knew how to approach the sentry on duty in order to 
gain admittance to the lodge of the concierge. This 
knowledge availed her now, and she and Couchette 
were permitted to pass into the main court where 
some half-dozen municipal guards were lounging. 
These men gave the two filles de joie a sportive 
greeting, which they returned with good-humoured 
ribaldry. They were at once made welcome, for 
their arrival broke the excessive monotony of the 
guards, to whom the dreary Temple was almost as 
much a prison as to the royal captives. 

In reply to Eglee’s question she was told that the 
Citizen Laforge was on duty outside the Widow’s 
room. Could she go up to him ? The girl’s heart 
had leapt wildly at the thought, and expressed itself of 
its wish j once on that royal threshold Marie Antoi- 


loo 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


nette should see her, speak with her, and she, EgHe, 
would comfort her if they had to drag her dead from 
the Temple. No, she could not go up, but she and 
Couchette might wait below in the court and amuse 
the municipal guards till Laforge was off duty. With 
this Egl^e was fain content ; it was something gained 
to be within the same walls that held captive her 
queen. Her spirits rose higher and higher, and 
infested all with her bold, suggestive glee. With 
great cunning Eglee kept the subject of all the talk 
on Marie Antoinette, at whose expense the guards 
cracked foul and brutal jokes. She gleaned how 
monotonous was their duty, how dull and lonely was 
the Temple, how they occupied their idle time in 
planning fresh insults for the wretched prisoners, how 
stubbornly the proud queen bore herself even now 
when she was broken in health and looks, how meanly 
clad she was. Eglee heard them talk too of Toulan, 
the municipal guard, and his abortive plot for her 
escape ; she gathered too that each one of these men 
was suspicious of the other so that mutual fear 
banished the very shadow of treachery. With a great 
sinking of the heart she realised how difficult it would 
be for the queen to escape ; it seemed as if all the 
brains, all the courage in the world could not save her. 
But Egl^e was not daunted, her mirth became bolder, 


101 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


more unlicensed, more dangerous. She despised these 
men as she despised Manette, and she was too safe in 
the degradation of her lot to fear them or aught 
connected with the Revolution. 

“ And how is the king ? ” she asked suddenly. 

The guards looked at her blankly. 

“ The king,” she repeated with an impatient clatter 
of her sabots on the stone pavement. > Don’t' you 
know who the king is ? Are you deaf or fools ? 
The king ! Louis XVII ! The son of Marie 
Antoinette ! Young Capet, then ! ” 

The words were shrieked from her lips and she 
burst into prolonged laughter that echoed and 
reverberated in the grim stone court. They had 
known all the while whom she meant, but mutual 
suspicion held them silent. 

“ That’s a dangerous jest, citoyenne,” said one of 
the guards. 

Egl6e made a wanton gesture of ridicule with her 
hands and face at him. The others laughed. 

“The boy Capet,” continued the man, “is the sole 
thing that makes this life here bearable. No, I will 
serve the Republic without complaint or reward, but 
the day they send those sour-faced women upstairs to 
the guillotine will be a happy one for me. The only 
bit of fun we have is what the boy Capet makes for 


102 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


us. Citizen Simon has taught him some funny 
tricks that he does like a monkey ; sometimes he 
forgets them or refuses to do them, but Simon’s club 
soon puts him straight. He can sing the ^a-ira and 
dance the carmagnole, in tricolor costume too, and he 
spits when you say Louis or Marie Antoinette. I tell 
you its rare fun to see the young cub go through his 
tricks.” And all the men laughed, slapping their legs 
to emphasise their brutal glee. 

Even to Eglee’s untutored intelligence, trained to 
regard all suffering but that which was physical with 
indifference, the picture these words created was 
revolting. She rose from where she sat, crying 
passionately — 

‘‘Canaille that you are, you had better remember 
Tison’s wife ! She treated the queen as you and that 
villain Simon are treating her son, till a fit of remorse 
drove her raving mad. I tell you, you too shall go 
mad ! Boy Capet, eh? He is the King of France, 
a son of St. Louis ! ” 

She was terrible in her righteous wrath, there was 
something sibylline in her passion. Her wonderful 
voice sounded prophetic in the sombre court of that 
crime-haunted prison, and under her fearless, flashing 
glance the men quailed. If ever the power of Right 
over Wrong was obvious, it was so now, and she who 
103 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


dared in the very Temple, in the very Terror, to 
proclaim such sentiments was one of the least of the 
people. 

In the midst of this tableau Jean Laforge appeared. 
He had not overheard Eglee’s words, and the 
expression depicted on the countenances of all in 
the court filled him with wonder. Before he had 
a chance to ask any question, Eglee cried — 

‘‘ It’s Jean ! ” And forgetting her wrath in a 
moment, she rushed up to him and embraced him. 

He was no longer the volatile youth of five years 
before who looked so smart in the d’Amboise plush, 
but a gaunt, sallow man in the unbecoming livery of 
the Republic, a man on whose face and form exposure 
and fatigue had set their stamp. When the Due 
d’Amboise had joined the Emigres, Jean had taken 
to soldiering ; it seemed an easier and, at the same 
time, a more respectable life to the lackey to join 
Lafayette’s National Guards than to become servant 
in a bourgeois family or an inn-waiter. After the 
luxurious servitude of the Hotel d’Amboise his vanity 
could not submit to vulgar menial employment, and 
to his mind, prone to ostentation, there was a dash 
and glamour about the army that appealed to him. 
So to the army he went, where the barrack-room and 
the ranks soon disillusioned him as to the advantage to 
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IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


be gained from the lot he had chosen. He had long 
since come to the conclusion that the glory of 
marching on the frontiers and chasing Brunswick 
over the Rhine was a very unrealisable asset. And 
as he had grumbled at the baseness of the destiny that 
made such a fine creature as he an aristocrat’s lackey, 
so he now fretted sullenly at the hardships he endured 
in the more exacting service of the Republic. So 
much for inferior clay, unsettled by the reading 
of “Faublas” and the tawdry romances of high 
life. 

When Egl^e’s expression of gladness of seeing him 
was over, he said, with a shrug and a glance that 
included the rest as well as Eglee — 

“Ah, Voulet, La Capet is sulkier than ever; we 
were better olF on the Belgian frontier with fever and 
colic than here. Goodbye, citizens. I’m off till 
to-morrow ; no more of this Bastille than is neces- 
sary, say I.” 

“ Goodbye, citizens ! ” exclaimed Egl^e with a mock 
curtsey. “Goodbye, Couchette, I have private business 
with Citizen Laforge.” And dangling on Jean’s arm 
she quitted the Temple. 

The municipal guards glared at her as she departed 
in speechless astonishment, suspicion, and rage ; and 
Couchette, who remained behind, exerted all her wiles 
los 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


to fascinate them back into good-humour, as if to 
make amends for her companion’s behaviour. 

The sun was setting as Eglee and Laforge stepped 
into the street ; it had disappeared behind Paris, but its 
fresh, blood-red trail was plainly visible in the heavens. 
It was the red and sombre sunset of late September 
that is without warmth, that stains all it touches with 
melancholy — the harbinger of autumn and of death. 
The two, uncertain whither to direct their steps, 
turned round and looked up at the peaked walls of 
the Temple. In this dying hour of the day it seemed 
doubly forbidding, and both instinctively shuddered. 

“ Which is the tower the queen is in ? ” asked 
Eglee in a half-whisper. 

It’s in an inner court, you can’t see it from here. 
Ugh ! it’s the loneliest prison in Paris. I must have 
some brandy to get it out of my thoughts.” 

“Yes,” said Egl^e, “let us drink to old times and 
forget the cursed Temple.” 

And the two walked rapidly and silently away. 

At the first caf6 they came to they stopped and sat 
down at one of the tables. The sinister light had 
already faded out of the sky and the early night was 
glimmering with the cheerful sparkle of candles and 
lamps. It was the hour when all Paris was abroad ; 
the constant passing of men and women, the click of 
io6 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


glasses, the sound of laughter, the vivacity of the 
crowded, babbling caf6, infected them, as it affects all 
Parisians, with a sense of comfort and gladness. Jean 
and Egl^e forgot their grievances and anxieties and 
enjoyed themselves. Though it was the Reign of 
Terror and the standards flapping in the Place de 
Greve informed the people that the Fatherland was in 
danger, Paris was still Paris. Theatres and dances 
were as popular as ever ; the caf(6s, the streets, the 
parks, were frequented as of yore with the same 
multifarious humanity ; the world was still running ; 
it was only when men stopped to listen that they 
heard the reverberating echo of the crash of the 
Bastille and the Monarchy. To seek the Terror 
that was the order of the day, you must go to the 
Convention, to the Jacobins, to the prisons, to the 
Place de la Revolution where the guillotine made its 
evening meal off human heads. 

The wine that Jean ordered warmed them and 
added to the infectious gaiety of the atmosphere. 

‘‘ Egl^e,” he said, “ you have changed since 1 last 
saw you. Let me see, when was it ? You have 
grown downright handsome, I swear.” And Jean 
rested his eyes on the girl with admiration. 

‘‘You didn’t expect to find me the little fool you 
left five years ago, did you? But you’ve changed 
107 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


too ; I am sorry I can’t return the compliment, Jean. 
I expect you find it harder to serve the Republic than 
the Due d’Amboise, eh ? These clothes don’t become 
you like his.” And EgHe plucked the coat-sleeve of 
his municipal uniform. 

Jean laughed lightly as he sipped his glass. 

“ I was good to you in those days, wasn’t I ? ” he 
said. 

“Yes,” she replied, “you were the best of them 
all” 

“ Egl^e,” he said eagerly, “ I will be good to you, 
just like before.” 

“ Will you show me the queen, the beautiful queen, 
as you did before ? ” she murmured. Her brilliant 
eyes were gazing at him dreamily through half-closed 
lids ; she was looking at him, but not thinking of 
him ; her thoughts were picturing the queen, safe on 
the other side of the Rhine, and herself in a tumbril 
going down to the Place de la Revolution. 

“ Dear Jean,” she went on softly, “ you were good, 
good to me in those days.” And she picked up one 
of his hands and kissed it. 

The touch of her lips, the tone of her voice, the 
fire in her dreamy, sensuous glance, and the wine he 
had drunk thrilled Jean. The old charm of the girl 
was strong on him, stronger now than it had ever 
io8 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


been, for she could no longer bring ridicule on him. 
It was the Year One of Liberty, and all were equal. 
He toasted her and then leaning forward kissed her. 

“ Ah, EgHe, you still remember my taking you to 
the masked ball and to Versailles? Who would have 
thought these cursed aristocrats were so near their end 
then ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, la, la,” cried Eglee, ‘‘ they were beautiful ! 
Devil of a lot of ugliness the Revolution has given us. 
I am tired of it, I hate it.; I wish I was an Emigrant 
Duchess’s maid, that would be something like life.” 

Eglee laughed aloud. Jean looked around him sus- 
piciously. None of the other people in the caf(£ were 
noticing them at all, or if they did they would not give 
a second thought to the merriment of a fille de joie and 
a municipal guard olF duty. But Jean had a whole- 
some regard for the Revolution, and Egl^e’s words, if 
overheard, might prove mischievous. He leaned 
across the little table and said in a low tone — 

“ Be careful, Egl6e ; we should be suspected if any- 
one heard us ; let us go away.” 

They rose and sauntered down the street. 

“ Why did you send Manette to see me ? ” asked 
Eglee suddenly, 

“I wanted to see you about something very important; 
I didn’t know where you lived, so I sent Manette.” 

109 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Was it about the queen, Jean ? ” The idea was 
ever uppermost in her mind, and curiosity also made 
her inquisitive. 

“ Yes,” replied jean. 

“ Does Manette know ? ” she asked. 

“ Y es, Manette knows.” 

Eglee laughed strangely. 

“ What’s the joke, girl ? ” 

“ I settled Manette this afternoon. I frightened 
her, she won’t trouble me again. And I too want to 
talk to you about the queen, but Manette doesn’t 
know. It’s very important, so let us go to my salon 
in the Rue Fromenteau, it is very private. Nobody 
can hear us there, and Couchette doesn’t count. She 
knows my thoughts.” 

They talked of various other things till they reached 
the Faubourg, each instinctively reserving the supreme 
subject till they gained the privacy of E glee’s cellar. 
The girl guided Jean by the hand down the steps from 
the street, lest in the darkness he should fall. 

“Nobody ever comes here to see me,” she said 
apologetically, as she unlocked the door, immediately 
locking it on the inside again for greater privacy. 

Jean remained standing while she fumbled about in 
the dark for a dip that was stuck in the neck of an 
empty bottle. Its faint flicker relieved the darkness 


no 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


of the cellar, but accentuated its wretchedness. Jean 
sat down on one of the chairs ; he had not expected 
much of EgHe’s abode, but he was not prepared for 
such pronounced gloom. There was to him a sugges- 
tion of crime in the bare, ill-lit room, and he looked 
around him uncomfortably. 

Egl^e sat opposite him and astride her chair. 

“ You begin,” she said ; “ I’ll listen to every word.” 
And leaning over the back she regarded him fixedly. 

With the air of one conferring a favour, Jean took 
Egl6e into his confidence. 

“ It is about the queen I wanted to see you. You 
see, the Convention has decided to try her ; she is the 
cause of all the troubles of the Revolution, and the 
people want her head. Besides, while she lives she is 
dangerous ; if any of the plots to rescue her had 
succeeded no Frenchman’s life would be safe. The 
Terror would be nothing to her revenge. Just as she 
sent all the money she could put her hands on to her 
brother, the Emperor, so she would give him any part 
of France he wants. I tell you, she and that rabble on 
the Rhine would make all France swim in blood. 
The Jacobins say she must die for her crimes if she 
were the sister of a hundred emperors. And the 
sooner the better, say I, then there will be no more of 
that lonely jail duty for me at the Temple j and besides, 


III 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Eglee, my girl, her death will do me a good turn with 
the Republic, for I don’t mind telling you the Revolu- 
tion is far harder to please than the aristocrats. For 
you never know when you’ll be sent to the guillotine. 
Nobody is safe in these days. You see, all the witnesses 
against her will be tried patriots, and they will be well 
rewarded, and I have offered to be a witness, and that’s 
why I want to talk to you, for you can help me.” 

“ How ? ” murmured Egl6e, almost inaudibly. The 
gaze that she had fastened on him when he began to 
speak never once faltered, but its expression changed 
as he revealed his mind. It made him nervous, it was 
so steady, so mysterious, so terrible. 

“ How ? ” he echoed, unable to take his eyes from 
hers as if she willed him to look at her. 

“Well, for one thing, I shall accuse her of coming 
to the balls of the people to mock them. You 
remember what she said that night when she lost her 
mask ? She said it was a scandal for her to be seen 
there, that was an insult to the people. You will 
corroborate all I say. I shall swear I was at Trianon 
with you and that two aristocrats tore you away from 
me and carried you off to make sport for her, and after- 
wards she nearly had you killed because you told her 
you hated the Bastille. You remember how they 
made fun of the people that day ? The lackey at 


112 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 


Trianon who brought you back to Versailles to me 
is here in Paris now, he will back us up in all we say ; 
we can make it as bad as we like. We can prove how 
she hated the people. I tell you it will be an accusation 
in itself to condemn her, not to mention how it will 
put our patriotism beyond suspicion. But, Heavens ! 
Egl^e, look cheerful over it, girl ! ” 

Her breath was coming hard, she almost panted. 
His character was as clear to her as daylight ; she 
understood all the mean selfishness of the man. In his 
jealous envy of the aristocrats he had never anticipated 
such a Revolution ; in his heart he hated the Republic, 
it was a capricious and cruel taskmaster. His 
patriotism was a mask he did not dare lay aside ; he 
had hated aristocrats because he was jealous of them, 
he hated the Republic because he feared it. He was 
a traitor to both his masters, a traitor and a coward. 
Such a man was the last in the world to lean on, to 
expect anything from 5 weak and selfish to the core, 
no bribe could make him true, no bribe could make 
him brave. 

“ Is that all ? ” whispered Egl^e, when he had 
finished, still holding him with her powerful gaze. 
Then, realising how completely her wild hopes were 
shattered, with a cry she buried her face on her arms 
that were crossed on the back of the chair. 

1 13 


I 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Her grief was brief and tearless. Rage mastered it. 
In that moment Manette appeared an angel of light 
compared with Jean’s selfish and calculating villainy. 
She sprang to her feet and paced the dimly lighted 
room. Jean was stupefied. 

“ What is the trouble, Egl^e ? ” he asked. 

She stopped suddenly in front of him and exclaimed — 
“ Ah, if I had Manette’s knife here, you should 
never leave this room alive. I should kill you ! I 
hate you ! ” And she began to pace the room again, 
raging and smiting her breast. 

Jean was now thoroughly alarmed 5 the criminal 
aspect of the cellar was suggested to him more forcibly 
than ever. This raving creature might yet find a way 
to kill him, horrors seemed to lurk in the semi-lighted 
corners. He was defenceless and utterly unnerved ; 
he looked about for a means of escape ; the door was 
locked, but the key was in it, he rushed to it. But 
Eglee had seen him and was there before him with 
her strong body against it. To struggle with her 
would be worse than useless in his weak state of 
health, she would have him quickly at her mercy, as 
in fact he already was. He retreated from her formid- 
able presence and tried to pacify her. 

“ But why, why, Eglee do you hate me ? we have 
always been friends.” 


IN THE RUE FROMENTEAU 

‘‘ I will tell you why,” she cried, “ because I love 
the queen ; to save her I would die for her ! Ever 
since Toulan failed I have been trying so hard — oh, so 
hard — to think of some plan to get her out of the 
Temple. But such as I have no brains, what can I 
do ? Yet, I thought, if I could only find some one 
who had the brains, I could give myself to be used to 
free her. My courage, my devotion, would be of 
great help, and then my condition is so low that who 
would ever suspect me ? Manette came here to-day 
when I was thinking, thinking, and told me that you 
were in Paris and employed at the Temple. It was 
the very idea I wanted. Between us we could save 
her. I know you hate this Revolution, though you 
pretend to serve it, but it is only because you are a 
coward. You are a coward and a villain ! What 
has the queen ever done to you ? Ah, you came to 
the wrong person when you came to Eglee, and the 
day they try her I will be there and I shall testify for 
her. I will give you the lie at the Revolutionary 
Tribunal — oh yes, I know how to do it, you coward, 
you canaille 1 I will inform against you ; you are a 
traitor and would sell yourself to the aristocrats or the 
Republic, whichever will pay the most. I know you 
now. Go, get out of my sight, you coward, you 
traitor ! The guillotine is the mistress for you ! ” 
“5 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


The frenzy of her appearance, the passion of her 
words that were hissed from her lips, filled him with a 
craven fear. She unlocked the door and throwing it 
open stepped aside. He passed out quickly without a 
word and bounded up the dark, stone steps into the 
street, down which he ran panic-stricken. 

And Eglee, with a wild cry, threw herself on the 
floor and wept. It was her first acquaintance with 
despair. 


ii6 


CHAPTER V 

IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 

F OUOUIER-TINVILLE, the vicar-general of 
an infallible revolution, like so many others, had 
caught the epidemic of the times, he was sick of a 
Fixed Idea. With him monomania took the form of 
a ceaseless suspicion of plots ; wherever two or three 
were gathered together there surely must be a plot in 
the midst of them. If he had been a melodramatic 
playwright in search of material he could not have 
displayed greater zeal than in the interest he took in 
those who wrought conspiracies. Plots, plots, plots 
— a veritable Golconda of thrilling material to have 
made his fortune if he cared to essay the building of 
romance. But as to the value of this material that 
Fouquier discovered in such quantities it lacked 
originality. The schemes of the plotters had a 
tiresome uniformity ; however clever and varied they 
117 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 

might be in detail their general aim was the same — 
to relieve Fouquier of his duties and hand the Father- 
land over to Brunswick and the Emigrant Noblesse. 
To guard against these undesirable eventualities he 
was diligent in the pursuit of his fixed idea. It led 
him at first to the prisons of Paris, for he was morally 
certain that nowhere else would his suspicions be 
more thoroughly realised. So in his judicial capacity 
he subjected the prisons to daily examinations, and 
the workers in plots were brought before him in 
batches, or fournhsy as they were called. It was by 
no means necessary to prove a conspiracy existed, the 
mere suspicion of it was ample proof, and the chance 
of the hatching of a successful plot could only be 
negatived by a general holocaust. The result of this 
daily quest of what rarely was to be found filled the 
tumbrils with those whom he sardonically described 
as winners in the lottery of Saint Guillotine. But 
his fixed idea carried him still further afield, and he 
continued his exaggerated search throughout Paris and 
France. This suspicion of plots had now become 
infectious, and a morbid Convention in a moment of 
panic had passed its Law of the Suspect, which more 
than any decree firmly established Terror as the order 
of the day. To help Fouquier find his plots no patriot, 
no more than the enemy within the gates, was to be 

Ii8 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


counted above suspicion. So much for Fouquier- 
Tinville and his fixed idea. 

It was a conviction of this that turned the soul of 
Jean Laforge to water as he fled from the presence of 
Egl^e. He had heard that Saturn had an unappeasable 
appetite, and on occasion had been known to have his 
children served as the pihe de risistance at Olympian 
banquets, and he may or may not have remembered 
that a certain people of antiquity worshipped a god 
called Moloch, whose habits were cannibalistic. If, 
under the circumstances, he was inclined to believe 
that the worship of these deities with its orthodox 
rites was in vogue in the Fatherland and respected it 
accordingly, he was hardly to be blamed. Between 
High Church Girondins and Low Church Jacobins a 
timidly facing-both-ways young man was in a dilemma, 
the usual solution of which in those days was a drive 
at the Republic’s expense to the shrine of the saint in 
the Place de la Revolution. 

In the cellar the idea of immediate death filled him 
with craven fear, in the street it still haunted him. 
His sole thought was that he had betrayed himself in 
speaking of the Republic. It would be a deadly 
weapon in the hands of an informer, and the danger 
he ran from the infuriated Egl^e seemed so imminent, 
that he could scarcely shape his terrified wits into 
lucidity, 

119 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


All the next day at the Temple this suspicious fear 
ate into his heart and brain its paralysing suspense. 
It was the longest day he had ever known. He 
remembered Toulan and the suspicion with which the 
sentries at the Temple were now watched. He dared 
not look a municipal guard in the face lest he should 
read written there his discontent, his fear, his treason. 
He could think of no means to parry the blow that 
Egl^e might at any moment strike, and every hour of 
the day he expected to be arrested as a Suspect on her 
information. Nor was flight possible ; to make it 
successful one must be provided with friends and 
money ; his appearance in any village in France, if 
incapable of a plausible explanation, would be suffi- 
cient ground on which to arrest him ; and at the 
best escape meant starvation beyond the borders 
for him. 

With such men amour propre is sensitive, and they 
are wont to apologise to themselves for the mistakes 
they make. At the end of a week he was still safe ; 
the tensity of his fear slackened, he began to gather 
hope. He tried to take comfort out of the thought 
that one even more suspiciously careful than himself, 
if such an anomaly existed, would never for one 
moment have fancied that Egl^e was a crypto- 
aristocrat. It was beyond reason to suppose that in 


120 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


a cellar of the Faubourg St. Antoine there could exist 
a woman with whom the rescue of Marie Antoinette 
was a fixed idea. But the consolation of such a 
thought was very feeble ; the only real piece of mind 
he should ever know again was to deprive Egl^e of 
the power to inform against him. That she could 
be denounced as a royalist never entered his head, the 
degradation of the girl’s lot was her safeguard ; the 
man who tried to make her a Suspect would only 
bring ridicule on himself. Who, indeed, was she that 
the State should fear her ? Egl^e was out of the 
reach of the Law of the Suspect. The girl’s cunning 
instinct made her fully aware of this ; it heightened 
her boldness, it strengthened her fearless contempt 
which made her the match for Manette, for the 
municipal guards, for Jean. It gave to her degrada- 
tion a possibility of power that required only brains to 
make it effective. Jean understood this, but to shape 
it into definite action to ruin the girl was beyond his 
ability. Suddenly he remembered Manette, and hope 
grew to twice its stature in him at a bound. From 
what Egl^e had said he gathered she had offended 
Manette ; the hag was not one to go unrevenged, her 
resources were great. He no sooner thought of her 
than he determined to see her at once ; he would be 
on his guard with her, he would be full of guile, he 


I2I 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


would not betray himself to her. Surely between 
them Egl^e might be removed before she played 
the trump card she held ? Without delay he went in 
search of Manette. The decree of the Convention 
that made Terror the order of the day had made no 
allowance for the distinction between the patriot and 
the royalist. The Terror fell on all alike, none could 
escape from it. The distracted Convention, striving 
too late to make the distinction, invented the Law of 
the Suspect — the law by which the royalist might be 
distinguished from the patriot. In a moment of in- 
sanity the Convention had crowned Terror. To 
Fouquier-Tinville, to the royalist, to the patriot 
Suspicion was in the air they breathed. The revolu- 
tion was in travail, pang after pang ; what a shriek was 
that of Liberty ! The miscarriage was Terror. 

But Eglee in the meantime was busied with other 
things than the destruction of Jean Laforge. He had 
completely passed out of her consideration ; he had 
brought no aid to her, and proved himself both devoid 
of brains and a coward. There was no further use for 
him in her schemes. 

Crushed with despair, against which her masterful 
nature vainly struggled, she had towards morning fallen 
asleep from pure mental exhaustion. The day was 
well advanced when Couchette returned to the cellar 


122 


IN THE PLACE DE LA Rl^VOLUTION 


and found Eglde in a sound slumber on the floor. 
Couchette awoke her timidly. 

Egl^e stretched herself with a yawn and sat up ; she 
felt sore, very tired, and somewhat dazed. With a 
shudder she remembered the despair of the previous 
night, then she rose to her feet, and with the vanity of 
a woman looked at herself in her apology for a mirror. 
Couchette’s voluble questions met with no response, 
Egl6e next splashed her face with water and passed a 
comb through her hair. The effect was marvellous ; 
she looked her natural self again. 

‘‘Couchette,” she said when she had finished her 
brief and silent toilet, “Jean Laforge has not got 
any brains at all and not so much heart as a louse.” 
And then Eglee related the events of the previous 
night. 

“Poor queen!” said Couchette, “ now nothing we 
can do will save her.” 

“ There is one chance left,” replied Eglee, with 
energy. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Couchette. 

“ We must walk all over Paris shouting ‘Vive la 
reine 1 ’ People will crowd around us from curiosity, 
then I will tell them about the queen. If there is a 
heart that knows pity it must be made to feel it 
for her.” 


123 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“Oh, Egl^e,” cried Couchette, “we shall be 
guillotined ! ” 

“ Then they would make us martyrs. It would be 
a fine thing to die for the queen ; I should like it.” 
And Eglee looked at her companion proudly. 

“You frighten me when you are like this,” said 
Couchette. “ Oh, Egl^e, what you wish is im- 
possible ! ” 

“Yes, it is impossible, for the fools would never 
send two wretches like us to the guillotine. We are 
safe because we are what we are. I tell you I shall do 
what I say. The queen is to me my life. I never 
loved a man yet, but I know love must be like what I 
feel for the queen. It must enter you body and soul 
so that you can never think of anything or anybody 
else, that is love. As I lay there last night before I 
fell asleep I thought what would become of me when 
the queen was dead. It nearly maddened me. Then 
I said to myself, ‘ Eglee, you must never stop trying to 
save her ; who knows, at the very scaffold she may be 
saved ? ’ And something whispered to me that if ugly, 
villainous Manette can make the people obey her why 
can’t I ? I am better looking, I have no fear ; I will 
try. I must try, I must not fail to try every plan that 
will serve her. Plots don’t work. Toulan with 
all his cleverness couldn’t succeed ; it’s si waste of 


IN THE PLACE DE LA Rj^VOLUTION 


time to try plots. I must do it. Couchette, I must 
do it.” 

Couchette’s timid nature was alive to the dangerous 
daring of this crusade, but to disobey Eglee was even 
more dreadful to her. It was impossible. Egl6e 
meant to her everything that her limited intelligence 
conceived of the bright side of life ; EgHe meant pro- 
tection, friendship, contentment ; to lose these precious 
possessions, as she surely would through disobedience, 
meant a return to those terrible days before she had 
known Eglee — those days of brutality, of starvation, of 
despair. So complete was the dominion of Eglee over 
her that if Egl^e walked into a den of lions Couchette 
would have followed her rather than be separated from 
her. Never was one more dependent on another than 
timorous Couchette on masterful Eglee. So now, 
filled with alarm at Eglee’s resolve, Couchette was 
nevertheless prepared to obey, and to fortify herself 
the girl reflected on the great strength and wisdom 
of her friend. 

‘‘ Come,” said Egl^e, ‘^no time is to be lost ; we will 
go at once — now.” 

The fille de joie of the Rue Fromenteau had developed 
into the priestess of a fixed idea. In the passionate 
night-wrestle with despair an irresistible force had 
arisen in her impelling her to go forth and preach the 


125 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


gospel of the captive queen. It worked in her like the 
“ call ” of a missionary. When she told Couchette, 
“ I must do it ! ” there was a light in her expressive 
eyes that transfigured her, an impassioned sibylline 
light. Untrained as she was she never gave a thought 
to the difficulties of her mission ; the force at work 
within her was able to overcome them all, even the 
greatest of them — the difficulty to speak. Eglee was 
sure of herself. 

As soon as the two girls reached the street Egl^e 
cried aloud, “ Vive la reine ! ” Her voice rang up and 
down the Rue Fromenteau like the tocsin. Couchette 
trembled. But to Egl6e the trembling of Couchette, 
the rage of Patriotism, the dithyramb of the guillotine, 
were alike far from her thoughts. “Vive la reine !” 
she cried at intervals, walking slowly down the street 
closely followed by Couchette, who from terror or 
Egl^e and also as if mesmerised by her echoed at first 
faintly and by degrees distinctly the traitorous royalist 
cry. 

They had not gone many paces when people flocked 
round them filled with curiosity, which the light in 
Egl^e’s eyes turned to wonder. It was the light that 
had burned in the eyes of St. John the Baptist, that 
had gleamed from the gaunt eye-sockets of the mission- 
saints, that had rallied the Crusaders 5 its fire was holy. 

126 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


The press was soon so great about the girls that their 
progress was impeded in the narrow, antiquated street. 
Then Eglde harangued the people. 

She herself had always been and was even now 
unaware of the power of her voice, which was capable 
of such a variety of expression. But those who heard 
it now were conscious of its marvellous melody. As 
she had surmised, speech was given her ; words did 
not fail her. In her voice Vive la reine ! was an 
incantation ; what she said was listened to as if the 
hearers were under the spell of enchantment. She 
told them of Marie Antoinette as she herself had seen 
her at Trianon, of her wondrous beauty, of her charm, 
of her goodness, of the tears she shed when she learnt 
she was hated by the people, of the message she had 
sent to the Faubourg. Then, with a change of 
inflection sonorously, with tragic solemnity, she 
painted the picture of the queen as she now was, 
sitting widowed, childless, friendless, abased, in the 
Temple. In E glee’s piteous voice she became 
a martyr dying ror the people she loved, a fellow- 
creature whose sorrows atoned for the past. And at 
the end of every period of her passionate appeal 
Couchette’s voice cried plaintively, as if it were 
a dramatic Amen, “Vive la reine I ” 

The effect was wonderful. 

127 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Some emotional women wept, some men nodded 
their revolutionary nightcaps in assent. This was 
not the girl they had all laughed at as ready to gabble 
any cry in her drunkenness ; this was not the Eglee 
they were all familiar with, the brazen girl with the 
bold, lawless laugh. This was a priestess with 
a message to deliver. The frenzy of her eyes, 
the mesmerism of her voice, the passion of her 
pleading, made those who stood around her spell- 
bound. 

She stopped and regarded the crowd, and her 
breathing came hard, like one in catalepsy. A way 
was made for her and she passed on ; there was no 
counter-cry of “ Treason ! ” no violent attempt at 
suppressing her — only wonder, with a touch of the 
coarse pity of the people. In the eyes of all the fille 
de joie was mad. 

Throughout that day the two girls wandered 
through the streets of the Faubourg, and whenever 
a fresh crowd gathered round them Eglee harangued 
it as before. And in these harangues her words 
scarcely ever varied. It seemed as if the power of 
rhetorical speech came to her when she found herself 
surrounded by people and left her when her hearers 
dispersed. The following day the same programme 
was repeated. The sedition of their conduct struck 
128 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


nobody ; as Eglde had guessed, the insignificance of 
their lot was their safeguard. 

After two days spent in this manner within the 
precincts of the Faubourg they ceased to draw 
a crowd. It was then that Eglee suggested to 
Couchette the kerbstones of the Palais Royal. In 
this cleaner, more respectable locality Eglee was not 
known, but her appearance declared for her louder 
than any sworn evidence that she was one of the 
people. Here again the strangeness of her cry, the 
inspiration of her manner, compelled attention. Once 
more people crowded round her. 

But freedom of speech was not vouchsafed here. In 
the Faubourg she was merely a mad girl ; in the Place 
du Palais Royal she might be another Charlotte Corday. 
The municipal guards made the girls move on : the 
right of haranguing was a monopoly of the demigods 
of the Terror, and they permitted no infringement of 
it. The girls moved on, but through the streets as 
they went Egl^e’s “Vive la rcine ! ” proclaimed their 
coming. Men and women stopped as if they had 
heard the tocsin ; but there was something in the 
crier that took the treason from her cry. The words 
were winged with fire ; they might have fallen from 
the lips of Walter the Penniless canvassing Europe in 
the name of Jesus of Nazareth. 

129 


K 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Now and then little bands would gather round her, 
to be suddenly dispersed by the municipal guards with 
the counter cry, “ In the name of the Republic ! ” 
And not a few who heard the passionate appeal in 
their hearts responded to her pleading. It was easy 
to see that this poor girl of the people had no political 
aim ; if she were mad she was harmless, if she were 
sane her heroism called for admiration, her loyalty at 
this eleventh hour was so simple, so touching, so true. 
In any case she was not dangerous ; she preached no 
revenge, no hatred of the Revolution, no denounce- 
ment of any leader. And, moreover, her creed was 
unbelievable ; it had been damned by the blood of the 
people. Marie Antoinette was a memory that made 
hearts bristle with hatred ; the name was under a curse 
that not even death could lift. It was a cause that 
could rally nothing but revenge. The pity and con- 
tempt that were Egl^e’s license have ever been the 
portion of the inspired. 

While on the Pont Neuf there flapped in the idle 
breeze the banner with its monition that the Father- 
land was in danger, the false suspicion of danger was 
a menace. The Committee of Public Safety had in 
the meantime made investigations in the Faubourg 
St. Antoine, where the known character and abase- 
ment of Eglde proved the safety of the two girls. 

130 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


For once the Committee of Public Safety was in 
a dilemma — to arrest such girls would have covered 
it in ridicule ; it was a step it dared not take. Yet 
by the law of the Republic if Egl^e were a mad 
fille de joie her place was in the Salpetriere ; if 
a priestess of royalty she deserved the guillotine and 
a grave filled with quicklime. So in its wholesome 
fear of the ridicule that kills, the Committee of Public 
Safety ordered the municipal guards not to prevent the 
criminal cries of these girls, but to keep them moving 
on, ever moving on. It was like an attempt to put 
out a conflagration that clumsily scatters the sparks. 
Egl6e and her cry became known everywhere ; within 
the week her crusade lasted she had shouted ‘‘Vive la 
reine ! ” at the door of the Convention, in front of the 
Temple, in the galleries of the Jacobins. Of the 
popular resorts of Paris there remained to be visited 
the most noteworthy of all — the Place de la Revolution, 
where at sunset the guillotine daily forged the signa- 
ture of Liberty. 

Perhaps the most dramatic of the many phases of 
the protean Revolution was the attitude of the women 
it produced. They were the apotheosis of the Birth 
of Liberty, babe cut by bloody Caesarian operation 
from the womb of convention. From the deep, rich 
bass of Madame Roland to the shrill treble of a pros- 
131 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


titute of the streets they sounded every note in the 
social gamut. No other drama in the \vorld’s history 
can show so many notable heroines : a heroine for 
every scene, a drama whose reach is as universal as 
human nature. No Shakespeare has ever imagined 
a completer character than Charlotte Corday, calcu- 
lating with algebraic surety her Codrus sacrifice ; 
a more grandly conceived and perfectly acted tragedy 
the world does not possess. And not the pure Maid 
of Caen alone, but each woman of the General Over- 
throw carried a whole five-act tragedy within her. 
It is a dazzling galaxy that the mind recalls. History 
will long remember Mademoiselle de Sombreuil, the 
Antigone of France, drinking her cup of blood ; the 
heroic Madame de la Rochejacquelein sharing the for- 
tunes of the pathetic peasants of La Vendde ; the 
young wife of Camille Desmoulins, whose love was 
a veritable fourteenth-century romance in the midst 
of the Terror 5 C6cile Renault, who had the wish but 
not the will to be another Charlotte Corday ; La 
Cabarus, gloomy Tallien’s wife, whose tact may be 
said to have plucked out the poison from the fang of 
Terror. These are a few out of many quite as 
picturesque and dramatic that History and her votaries 
remember with as much fascination as the widow of 
Hector or Lady Macbeth. 


32 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 

What more sensational slide in the phantasmagoria 
of the French Revolution than that shifty shape of 
a beautiful demi-mondaine — Demoiselle Theroigne the 
name of her ? First a soiled dove of Paris — a Prince 
of the Blood’s costly plaything ; then inoculated 
with the disease of the age — a Fixed Idea. In the 
guise of Minerva, dilated to a pythian height, she 
led the Poissardes to Versailles in the name of antique 
liberty. Behold her again at the taking of the 
Bastille — the inspired priestess of the Revolution. 
An agitatress of the first order, she was an enemy 
more to be dreaded than an armv corps. How men’s 
hearts leap at her voice and ^he sacred fire of her 
eyes ! The levity of life is now ?a‘d aside — she has 
escaped from her gilded Louis Seize cage ; henceforth 
her tableaux are highly sensational, the apotheosis of 
melodrama. Fascinating, impassioned creature, what 
a hostess she made at Patriot supper-parties ! What 
nights of the gods in which to transcendentalise in 
questionable luxury on the Revolution in the dawn 
of the Revolution ! And what a drama lies in the 
catching of this rare bird and caging it in a shameful 
Austrian prison ! Behold that scene with the Emperor, 
when she speaks to him fece to face and by her voice 
thrills freedom out of him — freedom and a safe passage 
back to France through his armies. Who can with- 

133 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


stand her ? Is not the cause she pleads the People’s ? 
And what a triumph is her return ! She enters the 
Jacobins on the arm of a poet, and transforms the 
eulogy prepared in her honour into practical tears of 
pity for Bouille’s mutinous regiment chained in the 
galleys. Sensational, did I say ? Behold, the Pois- 
sardes she had led to Versailles, questioning her 
inspiration, are for sacrificing her on the altar of 
the Revolution. Sensational ? Go to the Salpetriere 
— no, let the violent horse-play of the Poissardes bear 
sufficient testimony to the likeness of the favour of 
the People to that of princes. 

Among these well-known heroines of the great 
Drama who filled the stage so prominently and acted 
with such eclat^ the role played by EgHe was incon- 
spicuous. Her acting is only a rough bit of pathos, 
the part is almost beyond her scope, so startling is 
it in its crudity and. general surprise. Between her 
and the brilliant historical stars what a difference 
there is ! To the Demoiselle Th^roigne alone does 
she bear a dim resemblance. Both were gifted with 
pythian voices and eyes of holy fire — the two priestesses 
in the Temple of the Revolution that were not vestal 
virgins. Both were the inspired votaries of rival 
causes; Fame, the toad-eater, remembers the Minerva 
of the winning cause — the people’s cause — and ignores 
134 - 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


the Magdalene of the lost cause — the tyrant’s cause, 
Th^roigne had many divine moments ; Egl6e had 
but one brief, triumphant hour of divinity, and then 
■ — and then — the fate of mortals that would be gods. 

It is strikingly noticeable that those who set out 
to preach a gospel subservient to orthodoxy carry no 
scrip in their pockets Invariably they come from 
out of the very loins of humanity, and possess some 
magnetism that provides them with the necessaries 
of life and that still greater necessity to them — a 
hearing. To Eglee during this week food, clothing, 
and lodging were alike of no consideration. She 
appeared insensible to fatigue, and made no attempt 
to seek money ; everything was subservient to her 
call. The faithful Couchette was the bursar of this 
extraordinary mission ; and to keep them both from 
starving she begged for food from the back-doors of 
caf6s. Her courage ceased to falter when she saw 
that the authorities made no effort to arrest them, but 
she was fully alive to the futility of the daily pro- 
gramme. The perpetual moving on from sunrise to 
dark, with little to eat and sleeping where night over- 
took them, was by no means to her taste. It seriously 
interfered with their only means of living ; it was 
all very well to love the queen and pity her mis- 
fortunes, but this sort of thing was absurd. Couchette 

135 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


too, thought that EgHe had gone mad ; but the idea 
of deserting her friend never occurred to the girl. 
Her belief in EgHe continued strong, and, mad or 
sane, EgHe was still able to protect her. 

On the seventh afternoon of their crusade, at about 
the very time that Jean Laforge was seeking the 
counsel of Manette, the two girls walked slowly 
along the Rue St. Honor6. Couchette, whose 
patience was fast being exhausted, was petulantly 
casting about in her mind how to remonstrate with 
Egl^e. Their novelty had passed ; they no longer 
excited curiosity, and the municipal guards in the 
Place du Palais Royal, to whom they had become a 
nuisance, were rough and menacing. For once Egl^e’s 
“ Vive la reine ! ” found no echo in Couchette. 

“ We’ve been a week at this,” she said sharply, 
‘‘and the queen is still in the Temple, and will stop 
there too. It’s foolish to think we can do her any 
good — we ! ” 

“ Leave me, if you like,” replied Egl^e sternly, “ I 
shall go on. Who knows but at the very steps of 
the scaffold she may be saved ? ” 

EgHe had scarce finished speaking when yells were 
heard in the distance. The long, weary day was 
coming to an end ; the noise which approached was 
that which accompanied the tumbrils. 

136 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


The girls stopped and looked in the direction of the 
sound. 

“The tumbrils are coming,” murmured Egl6e. 
Her teeth were clenched, her eyes were dilated, her 
breast heaved as if some great struggle were going on 
within her. 

Two carts with the evening meal of the guillotine 
jolted heavily over the cobbles of the Rue St. Honor^. 
They were surrounded by a posse of municipal guards, 
while a band of sansculottes followed behind shrieking 
the Ca-ira and skipping in fiendish glee. 

“ Vive la reine 1 ” shouted Eglee, as the tumbrils 
passed. 

The mob was as delirious as she was ; it instantly 
enveloped the girls, ready to trample them underfoot, 

“ Citizens,” cried Couchette, in terror, “ don’t 
harm her ; she is mad ! ” 

The effect on those nearest was instantaneous ; it 
calmed their fury. Eglee, absolutely devoid of fear, 
began her customary harangue. A score stopped to 
listen, the rest followed the tumbrils. In the highly 
excited mood these people were in to listen was to be 
enthralled. The mesmeric influence of a single word 
can sway such crowds. A mob is but a wild beast 
at large : to attempt to frighten it is never to catch 
itj but it may be, and often is, snared by surprise. 

137 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Like Mark Antony over Caesar’s body, Eglee within 
five minutes held the little crowd around her. It was 
hers to the core, and she knew it ; at last, then, the 
divine moment she had so ardently longed for had 
come ; the great opportunity, like a winged steed, 
dashing past her at such a rate ! Can she mount it 
and curb it ? Alas ! it was not the courage she 
lacked, but the skill, 

“Vive la reine!” pealed her voice after every 
impassioned period. It was her watchword and on 
her lips was magical. 

The little band, revolution-mad, unaccountable for 
its actions, took it up. They did not shout it in 
unison, but irregularly. The cry thus gained an 
added force ; it was louder, more prolonged, it might 
have come from a hundred throats. 

“ Citizens ! ” shouted the girl, intoxicated with the 
taste of power, “let us follow the tumbrils to the 
Place de la Revolution ! The people they carry 
must not go to their deaths ! What matters it, my 
friends, who they be — aristocrats, suspects, patriots — 
it is all one ; they are French men and French 
women, the sacred blood of France flows in their 
veins as in ours. Citizens, it is a crime greater than 
breaking any law of Hebert or Robespierre to spill 
that blood, that divine blood. What has the Revolu- 
138 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


tion done for you, wretches that you are ? What 
has it done for me ? We are the people, my friends, 
the absolute sovereign people ; our will niust be 
obeyed. But see the dupes we are ! In the name 
of the Republic our generosity is turned to torture, 
we are enchanted into devils to run hungry and half- 
naked through Paris to spill the sacred blood of France 
that Fouquier-Tinville and his partners may sit in the 
place of the kings. I tell you, my friends, those men 
drink the blood that flows from the guillotine, they 
grow fat on it, and we — we starve ! They laugh at 
us as we run to do their cursed bidding. Let us not 
stand it any more. No, thrice no, and again thrice 
no ! We are brave, we are merciful, we are the 
sovereign people. If Hebert defies us we will go to 
the Jacobins and tear out his heart. To the Place 
de la Revolution, my friends ! ” 

So Eglee high and ever higher. Just what she 
intended to do when she had freed the victims she 
herself did not know. She had seen enough ot 
insurrection to know its power, but in her untutored 
mind there was no scheme of organisation, only a 
great blank. Her mother-wit told her that it would 
be easier to rescue the queen and raze the Temple 
when once the people had successfully defied the Re- 
public, Beyond this her brain did not, could not work, 

139 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


At a swift pace, followed closely by Couchette and 
between ten and twenty men whose fury she had 
turned from one channel into another, Egl^e dashed 
into the Place de la Revolution, curiosity swelling her 
ranks en route. The sun was setting and his blood- 
red rays stained the Statue of Liberty opposite the 
guillotine and formed a lane of fire through the 
crowd. The tricoteuses and poissardes were seated 
on benches near the scaffold, knitting, and emptying 
vials of revolutionary scold. In their midst was 
Manette. The two tumbrils had halted at the steps 
of the scaffold, a veritable sea of human beings flowed 
round them, and in that blood-red sunshine the Place 
de la Revolution presented a picture that on canvas 
would have been attributed to the unhealthy and 
brutalised imagination of a homocidal maniac. 

On the raised platform of the guillotine the gigantic 
figure of Samson loomed forbidding against the fiery 
evening sky. Already his voice could be heard calling 
out a number harshly, and a lady of the old Court 
was preparing to descend from the tumbril with 
superb fortitude. Suddenly above the Ca-ira and the 
“Vive la revolution!” Eglee’s voice rang out with 
a passionate and ominous “Vive la reine I” and was 
echoed and re-echoed by those who followed her. 
By sheer surprise it quelled all the noises round the 
14.0 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


scaffold, and, forcing a passage through the wondering 
people, Eglee and her band reached the steps leading 
up to the guillotine. It was a coign of vantage 
particularly well adapted to her pythian oratory. 
Once again her expressive and mesmeric voice was 
uplifted in pure treason ; but nobody attempted to 
drag her down, to seal her lips with her life, for her 
time had not yet come, her divinity had not yet 
forsaken her. 

‘‘ In the name of the people, hear ! ” she cried. 
“ I have come, my friends, to bid you remember the 
watchword of the Republic ; it is Liberty, Equality, 
and Fraternity. I bid you, my friends, remember not 
justice, but pity. I bid you be generous out of the 
richness of your sovereignty, generous to the weak, 
to the unfortunate. Citizens, in the name of the 
people, I the least of them, I bid you unyoke the 
horses from these tumbrils. These people must be 
released, this axe must be buried in the Seine — only 
then shall France be free. This emblem of death, I 
say, is a tyrant worse than Louis. It represents not 
that which shall purge our dear Fatherland of traitors, 
but the absolute power of the men who lie when they 
tell us France is free. We are the dupes of the 
Jacobins, we are barefoot and hungry and very poor 
that Hubert, Chaumette, and the others may fill their 
14.1 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


bellies and drive in their coaches like aristocrats. 
They think they can terrify us, but we are the true 
people from the bowels of the Faubourg, we carry 
the tocsin in our hearts, we send our dearest ones to 
die for France on the frontiers. Ah, blood ! blood ! 
blood ! We are drenched in blood. See ! Liberty 
herself is reeking with it ! It is a curse on us, a 
curse on F ranee ! Shall we ever be clean again ? 
I tell you the Jacobins and the Convention are jesting 
at our misery ; they have daubed us with blood — it is 
a magic spell under which we can see nothing, desire 
nothing but blood. Samson, with thy bloody hands, 
come down from that scaffold lest we tear thee down ! 
We are the people and we shall be obeyed. Citizens, 
I invoke your mercy for these poor wretches more 
miserable than we are. To the tumbrils, I say ! ” 
Egl^e’s voice had made its power felt at last. Like 
all who have ever preached a crusade, words came to 
her at the appointed time. There was the hum and 
shuffle of a densely packed crowd as it swayed towards 
the tumbrils ; the tricoteuses round the scaffold broke 
into shrill yells. The blood-red ball of the sun had 
dropped behind the back of the goddess of Liberty 
casting her long shadow over the people. Eglee still 
stood on the steps of the guillotine seen of all, shouting, 
“Vive la reine!” The condemned in the tumbrils, 
14Z 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


in whom at the last moment hope glimmered, like the 
flame of a candle that flares before it is extinguished, 
echoed the cry. It sounded like a chant, a death- 
hymn, like the sublime Ave Casar morituri te 
salutamus of the gladiators. But in that raging 
tumult all its solemn impressiveness was drowned. 
For a moment it seemed as if the municipal guards 
would stampede, but they recovered their presence of 
mind even before it was lost. Grouped round the 
tumbrils against which they were pressed, they formed 
a hedge of bayonets, dashing on which, like the sea on 
jagged reefs, the mob recoiled in angry, broken waves. 
And the Place de la Revolution became a howling 
waste in which Egl^e’s demonised followers drifted 
with purpose undefined. 

In the midst of the confusion it was impossible to 
judge its extent. With the ‘‘Vive la reine ! ” was 
mingled “ Vive la revolution ! ” and the municipal 
guards knew not whether they were protecting the 
condemned in the tumbrils from massacre or prevent- 
ing their rescue. But Samson, raised above the raging 
multitude, smiled sardonically ; he looked down into 
the seething square and saw what no one else could 
see. He saw E glee’s half-score of men shiver back 
from the bayonets, and he saw a tumultuous crowd 
gone rabid with curiosity and excitement. To him 
H3 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


it was merely a bubble bursting, an hieute of the Terror, 
the spasm of a frantic people. 

Egl^e’s insurrection, born out of rhetoric and mad- 
ness, was dying at its birth from lack of its natural 
nourishment — organisation. The girl realised the 
situation as clearly as Samson. To recover her 
power was impossible ; it was shouted and trampled 
away in that maniac mob. Once more she knew 
that without brains neither courage nor faith are of 
any account. At the hour when Fate had put itself 
into her hands she had acted with it like a tricoteuse. 
Marie Antoinette was still in the Temple, enchanted 
there ; and she, like Toulan, had failed to break the 
spell. The game was up ; it had been badly played, 
and in this last blaze of emotion her pythian inspi- 
ration burnt itself out. 

Egl^e turned away from the guillotine as it she had 
awakened from a dream. She was not a popular leader 
whose sceptre had vanished, but an atom in the raging 
tumult. She knew she was to blame for this riot ; 
she knew that even her degradation would not safe- 
guard her now ; and with haughty contempt she 
drifted silently into the thick of the crowd. Couchette, 
blanched with fear, followed her. Samson, leaning over 
the rail of the scaffold, had whispered in her ear, 
“ Citoyenne, Sainte Guillotine hears no prayers.” 
144 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


What did he mean ? His voice sounded like the 
thud of the axe on a victim’s neck, and there was 
the scent of fresh blood in her nostrils. 

In his search for Manette Jean Laforge arrived in 
the Place de la Revolution simultaneously with Egl^e. 
He saw his opportunity at a glance. Egl^e was 
breaking the law ; it was preposterous to think she 
could overturn the Republic. To be the first to 
inform against her would be to prove his patriotism 
beyond dispute. And on legs swifter than Atalanta’s 
he had hastened to the Committee of Public Safety 
with the news. 

A company of soldiers anxiously despatched arrived 
on the scene of the tumult and cleared a broad way to 
the scaffold. The power that has order and system 
behind it asserted itself instantaneously. Like magic 
the Place de la Revolution was brushed smooth. 
There was the rattle of musketry on the cobble 
pavement, and once more Samson’s voice could be 
heard calling his victims by number. The tumbrils 
were unloaded with despatch, and the well-known 
sound of the guillotine smote the air — systole, diastole. 
Swept into the approaches of the Place de la Revo- 
lution, the lately riotous crowd looked on afar 
apathetically. 

Suddenly the unnatural calm of the people was 
HS 


L 


A GFRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


broken by a voice full of mockery. It was so pene- 
trating that even Samson on the scaffold heard it and 
turned. 

“ Citizens ! Brothers ! Canaille I ” it called, and 
between each word there was a prolonged and brazen 
laugh of derision. 

For a moment, on the fringe of the people pressed 
by the soldiers against the railings of the Garden of 
the Tuileries, the commanding figure of the fille de 
joie of the Faubourg was visible. Instantly, as if a 
cloud had enveloped her, she disappeared. Systole, 
diastole went the guillotine as before, mingled now 
with the shrieks and curses of women. And in the 
sombre September twilight a tassel of the fringe that 
bordered the Place de la Revolution could be seen 
shaken violently. The priestess of royalty and her 
acolyte were in the hands of the tricoteuses. 

With one arm round Couchette, who clung franti- 
cally to her, Eglee fought fot her life. Her splendid 
strength and fearlessness were her only weapons, but 
the broils of the people in the Faubourg had skilled 
her in the use of them. Fists were raised in her face 
but with her free arm Egl^e knocked them down ; 
hands seized her by the skirt, but she kicked them 
wrathfully away, leaving long ribbons in the un- 
yielding fingers. A woman made a lunge at her 
146 


IN THE PLACE DE LA REVOLUTION 


breast with a knife. It was Manette, livid with hate, 
which made her unwary. But Egl6e was on the 
alert, and, gripping the hag by the wrist, she squeezed 
the weapon out of her claws. Then like a hawk she 
picked up the knife, and brandishing it and kicking 
and struggling and cursing, she dragged herself and 
Couchette free at last. Their freedom was of short 
duration. As the two girls stood panting and 
trembling from the life-and-death struggle, wonder- 
ing whither they should flee, they were snared in 
the fast gathering darkness by soldiers, who quietly 
surrounded them. 

‘‘Ah, my pretties,” said one banteringly, “we 
bring you an invitation in the name of the Republic 
to be its guest in the Conciergerie.” 


H7 


CHAPTER VI 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 
T this epoch no promenade in Paris presented 



1 3^ so gay an appearance as the court of the 
Conciergerie at midday. It contained all that was 
left in France of the old regime^ and resembled a 
caravanserai of fashion rather than a prison. Here 
was preserved that tradition of manners which the 
beauties and gallants of the old Court had developed 
into a fine art ; and in this ante-chamber of Death the 
aristocrats carried themselves as formerly they had in 
their heyday in the QEil-de-Boeuf. Most of them 
when arrested had brought with them money and 
clothing, and by dint of extreme economy and care 
managed to maintain a degree of elegance. Nor did 
the Republic interfere with the luxurious mode of the 
Conciergerie, which was in vogue in all the other 
prisons as well, and was in striking contrast with its 


148 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


own strict and" severe simplicity. It was as if the 
Republic considered fine clothes and gay manners as 
part of the aristocrat nature, which nothing could 
change any more than the leopard can change his 
spots. Yet there was something inexpressibly tragic 
in it all ; for pose that it was it was sincere, and tlie 
First Estate successfully played to the end the part it 
had always played, and that had made the noblesse of 
France the most distinguished caste in Europe. 

The aristocrats of the Conciergerie were the 
revers de medallle of the aristocrats at Versailles. 
They turned the prison, whose exit was the guillotine, 
into a parterre of flowers framed in iron. The mighty 
Revolution had overthrown old France, breaking it to 
pieces, but these fragments in the Conciergerie, like 
the fragments of antique marbles, still showed traces 
of what the splendour of the past must have been at 
meridian. Terribly fallen from their haughty estate, 
counted as a class accursed, humiliated to a torturing 
degree, these aristocrats, at the mercy of the Republic, 
preserved intact their gay composure or indifferent 
disdain, and displayed a nerve that never trembled. 
Of all the many wonderful tableaux in the drama of 
the Revolution none is more picturesque than the fall 
of the aristocrats. If it is possible to live down a 
past they succeeded, and sentimental posterity thinks 
149 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 

less of their follies, which in them were criminal abuses 
of rank, than of their heroic attitude in the day of 
retribution. The most frivolous learnt wisdom, the 
most faint-hearted acquired courage, and all as if it 
were the mark of their caste went to the guillotine 
with an intrepidity that has no match. They may be 
called the first trade union ; one idea like an oath 
bound all — loyalty to royalism ; their watchword was 
Vive le roi ! and their banner a coat-of-arms. 

The common criminals, of whom there was always 
a goodly sprinkling in the Conciergerie, placed there 
by the Republic to still further degrade the aristocrats, 
quickly recognised their own inferiority, and in the 
common danger were not only respectful but even 
volunteered to act as the servants of Monsieur le Due 
or Madame la Mar^chale. So the wrath of the 
Republic knew no bounds, and Fouquier-Tinville, 
with whom a plot was a fixed idea, was never at 
a loss where to discover one. 

It was into such a world that Egl6e and Couchette 
were now ushered, as another insult to the great ladies 
of France — two rank weeds in the garden of roses 
to spread there and choke out the fragrance with the 
overpowering stench of the gutters of the Faubourg 
St. Antoine. The extreme novelty of the arrival of 
two such young girls, stamped with the unmistakable 
iSQ 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


seal of the people, aroused the curiosity of the aristo- 
crats. For many of them having waited long to draw 
the grand prize in Fouquier’s guillotine lottery, were 
devoured by ennui even in the Conciergerie — the old 
familiar ennui of Versailles. It was a habit of the 
prison to ask every new arrival the cause of arrest ; and 
when it was known that these two girls had instigated 
a riot in the Place de la Revolution in an effort to 
rescue the victims in the tumbrils, the eagerness to 
hear their story was unbounded. 

There was no vulgar crowding round the girls, no 
show at all of curiosity, no attempt at familiarity ; it 
was not in this way these aristocrats sought to amuse 
themselves. There was a proper way to do things, 
and they would sanction no innovation of the 
Revolution that would buttonhole a fille de joie because 
she was a companion in misfortune. Egl^e and 
Couchette should be invited to tell their stories with 
that condescension which the aristocrats knew so well 
to make appear as if they were receiving a favour 
instead of conferring one. Etiquette should be main- 
tained ; and Madame la Duchesse de Noailles, as the 
lady of highest rank, was asked to hold a salon in 
the court of the Conciergerie. A certain Comte de 
Beugnot, known before the Revolution, as well as 
through it and after it, as a man of tact — possessing 

151 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


this quality to a superlative degree, and owing tD it 
the success of a very dramatic career — was chosen as 
master of ceremonies to Madame de Noailles. 

He approached EgHe and Couchette, who were 
crouching in a corner of the court and watching the 
inmates with the greatest curiosity, and entered into 
conversation with them. The girls were abashed and 
answered him shyly, but he soon put them at their 
ease. Their answers to his questions excited in turn 
his own curiosity, and with great tact he broached the 
subject of their imprisonment. He feared lest natural 
timidity might make them reluctant to become the 
observed of all observers for a few minutes in the 
Conciergerie. 

“ It is one of our customs here,” he said, ‘‘ for each 
new arrival to tell the prison the reason of his or her 
arrest. You see, in this gloomy place life is so full of 
ennui that even the most trivial excitement amuses us. 
Now, Madame la Duchesse de Noailles holds a salon 
to-day and will be honoured if you will attend it and 
tell us all how you happen to be here. It will help to 
drive away our ennui^ and perhaps it will interest you 
too to see what your companions in misfortune are 
like.” 

The Comte de Beugnot addressed Eglee, for he 
saw at a glance that she and not Couchette was the 

iSz 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


more important of the two. Any slight shyness that 
Egl6e had at first felt in the presence of a man of such 
elegant address as de Beugnot quickly passed. Her 
self-confidence was never long lost, for above all 
things she was perfectly natural. 

“ A salon ? ” she echoed in surprise, here ? 

The significance of a salon was quite understood by 
both girls, for in France the knowledge of the people 
as to the life led by the aristocrats had become 
surprisingly familiar. 

“Yes,” smiled the Comte de Beugnot, “you see, 
it is a tradition with us to listen to tales such as yours 
is sure to be in salons. We can hardly be expected to 
follow the fashion of the Revolution in such matters 
as we do not even know it. Will you honour us, 
mademoiselle ? ” 

And Eglee, in a state of dreamy wonder, permitted 
herself to be presented to Madame de Noailles. 

Never before, and never after, did the Conciergerie 
present so picturesque an appearance. On a rude 
wooden chair in the centre of the court sat Madame 
de Noailles, patrician and afiable ; on both sides of her 
in a semi-circle, some standing, some sitting, were the 
ladies and gentlemen of the prison, elegantly apparelled 
in the mode -of the Court of the Tuileries. In strik- 
ing contrast to the well-bred manner of these prisoners 

153 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


of rank was the sullen demeanour of the thieves, the 
forgers, the murderers, incarcerated along with them, 
who stood in the background in knots of two or three. 
As in a picture in which the interest of every detail 
leads up to and centres upon the chief incident, or 
soul of the canvas, stood the imposing figure of Egl^e 
in the foreground. At her feet crouched Couchette, 
wide-eyed and shrinking ; and immediately behind the 
girl of the people, on whom the gaze of all was fixed, 
was a massive stone pillar, grim and grey and strong, 
in itself alone suggesting the prison gloom. It was a 
scene that David might have painted, a picture that 
would arrest attention as one of the dramatic episodes 
of the Great French Revolution. 

For repose of etiquette this salon ot Madame la 
Duchesse de Noailles might have been the salon of 
Madame Necker or Madame du DeflFand. For 
novelty of interest and tragic originality it has not 
its counterpart in history. 

“It is very good of you to satisfy our curiosity,” 
said Madame de Noailles, with a bright glance. “ In 
the prisons at least the Fraternity of the Revolution is 
accomplished, a common danger unites us all. Will 
you tell us your story, mademoiselle ? We shall be 
most attentive.” 

The grace with which Madame de Noailles said 
154 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


this had an indescribable effect on Egl6e. She who 
had been accustomed all her life to the coarse epithets 
of the Faubourg now for the first time heard herself 
addressed in the genteel speech of the aristocrats. 
She was in the midst of those people of whom her 
romantic imagination had made its beau-idhl — the 
people of the masked ball and Trianon, the people or 
the tumbrils, a wondrous people whose reality was 
more fascinating to her than the dream. She was not 
shy now, but quite the contrary ; she felt like declaring 
aloud her admiration. 

‘‘You wish to know how I, so poor, came to be 
arrested ? It is not a long story, madame. They 
arrested me, the dogs, for shouting ‘Vive la reine ! ’ 
and inciting the mob to release the wretches in the 
tumbrils. As far back as I can remember I heard 
nothing but curses on the aristocrats and the Royal 
Family, and as I had never seen them nor been further 
than the Bastille, which frightened me, I believed all 
I heard. But one day my foster-brother and lover — a 
curse on him for a coward ! — went to be lackey in the 
Hotel d’Amboise, and whenever he came back to the 
Faubourg he was always talking of the aristocrats and 
their doings, and he promised to take me to a masked 
ball at the Opera, where he said I could see them. I 
made him keep his promise, and the night we went to 

155 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


the ball a most lovely lady lost her mask. I was quite 
close to her and saw her well — oh ! she was lovely ! 
An aristocrat was with her, and he took off his own 
mask and gave it to her to put on, for she was very 
angry ; and Jean told me that the lady was the queen 
and the gentleman was his master, the Due d’Amboise. 
I had never dreamt there could be people so beautiful 
as they were, for I had never before been out of the 
Faubourg, where everybody is ugly. I could never 
get them out of my thoughts; and then Jean — he was 
good to me in those days, the cowardly dog — took me 
to Versailles, where he said I might perhaps get 
another sight of the beautiful queen. And while we 
were strolling in the park we fell asleep in the shade — 
for we stopped to rest, and it was very hot — and two 
aristocrats passed and woke us and made jokes about 
us. They asked me if I wished to see the queen and 
took me away with them to Trianon, and there I did 
see her and talked to her. I was not accustomed to 
such grand people, they frightened me — for I was only 
a child — and I said something that made them all 
angry, but the queen was good to me and she 
wouldn’t let them hurt me, and she spoke to me, oh, 
so sweetly. I can never forget it. She was very 
beautiful, more beautiful than at the ball, and she 
looked so unhappy that I began to cry and my fear 
156 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


left me. Then something got into my heart that I 
had never felt there before. I did not know what it 
was then, but I do now ; it was love for her. I love 
her, and I would willingly die for her.” 

At this moment there was a rattling of heavy bolts 
and a municipal guard, armed to the teeth, stood in the 
open doorway of the court of the Conciergerie and 
called in a thin, shrill voice — 

“ Number fifty-three ! ” 

A tall, richly dressed man of middle-age, who had 
been listening to Egl6e with apparent interest, stepped 
in front of Madame de Noailles and said to her — 

“A thousand pardons, madame, for interrupting 
Mademoiselle Egl^e in her thrilling narrative, but 
may I crave your permission to withdraw ? ” 

Madame de Noailles gave him her hand, which he 
kissed, then bowing to the others he withdrew as if 
he were leaving a mrh at Versailles. No one 
showed the slightest emotion at his departure, though 
they knew full well what it meant. Eglee and 
Couchette knew, too, by instinct . that he was 
answering the call of Death, and they watched him 
with a horrible fascination till he disappeared and the 
door had clanked back and the heavy bolts were 
drawn. Then they stared blankly at Madame de 
Noailles and the others. How was it possible for 

157 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


him to go to the guillotine like that ? How was it 
possible for these aristocrats who remained to preserve 
their sang-froid? To Egl^e’s extravagant and illogical 
reason the rude intrusion of the Republic was an 
offence, and she ground her teeth and choked back an 
oath of the Faubourg from her lips. 

“ Mademoiselle,” said Madame de Noailles, with a 
bright smile, “ we are waiting for you to continue.” 

Egl6e looked at the throng waiting for her tale. 
In a crude way she seemed to realise the pathos 
underneath the affectation of Madame de Noailles* 
extraordinary salon. 

“ Ah, madame,’* she cried wildly, “ how can I go 
on when that door may open at any moment and the 
Republic call out for one of you to go to the guillotine ? 
No, ah no, it is not I that am afraid — who ever knew 
Egl6e afraid ? B ut this is no time for pleasantry ; 
how can you all be merry when some one must die 
so soon, so unexpectedly ? Yes, now you can see 
why I hate the Revolution. My God, I hate it ! I 
hate Fouquier and Hubert and the rest of that canaille 
who have made the Republic a greater tyrant that the 
king ever was ! Yes, ever since that day at Trianon 
have I loved the queen and the old regime — do not 
ask me why, I do not know, but it is true. They 
think I am mad in the Faubourg because I have 
158 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


always spoken in behalf of the queen when they 
cursed her with their foul curses. I tell you she is 
in my blood, in my brain. I have longed, oh ! so 
much, to save her from the Temple. How I have 
envied Toulan his brains ! If I had known he was 
trying to save her I would have gone to him and 
offered myself to him to use somehow. They would 
never have suspected me, so poor and so degraded ; I 
would have been just the tool he wanted. Ever since 
he failed I have lived in a hell of thinking — yes, it was 
a hell — thinking, thinking, thinking what I could do 
to save her even yet.” 

Eglee’s wonderful voice thrilled the court of the 
Conciergerie ; it seemed to strike every note in the 
gamut of passionate despair. Madame de Noailles’ salon 
listened spellbound, as if they were witnessing one of 
Racine’s tragedies superbly acted. For not only the 
voice, but the eyes, which expressed all the voice 
uttered, the fine physique, the bizarre dress, the 
genuineness of the girl, impressed all. 

“ Oh, madame,” she went on, “ you are beautiful ; 
it is cruel for you to be here, you who were born for 
gladness and riches ; you ought to be at Trianon with 
the poor queen, where all was lovely and the canaille 
never came with their foul hearts and their guillotine. 
Ah well, we can’t change it now, and you are right ; 

159 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


aristocrats should never show the Republic they are 
afraid — that is the triumph it seeks, not liberty. A 
week ago in my despair a chance came to me — to me, 
Egl^e — to save the queen. Jean came back ill from 
the army, and they put him on duty at the Temple. 
When I heard it I said, ‘ This is my chance, Jean and I 
between us will save her ; I will give my degradation, 
which puts me beyond suspicion, and my life, and Jean 
shall find the brains to work it into a plot.’ I knew 
he hated the Republic, for it is a hard master, and 
Jean was happy when he was a lackey for all he pre- 
tended to curse aristocrats, and he never dreamt what 
the Revolution would become. I trusted to him to 
help me, but, my God ! he would not ; he is the 
greatest liar and coward in France. He is afraid he 
will be suspected, and to save his own skin he actually 
wanted me to testify against the queen ! Oh, madame, 
did you ever hear of such a monstrosity ? We two 
were to make up lies about her and swear they were 
true. It was a foul plot, selfish and foul, for me to be 
used to save him at the cost of my dear queen. I 
could have killed him, and if I had had a knife at hand 
I should certainly have done so, he would never have 
left my cellar alive that night. It drove me mad. 
Ah ! ah ! when my hopes had been so high, when I 
was so certain of him, the dog ! But even then I did 
i6o 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


not despair ; I bethought myself of another final 
chance. I would walk the streets of Paris from end 
to end shouting, ‘Vive la reine ! ’ It would draw a 
crowd, for it is treason to the vile Republic ; 
people would come to me to know what I meant, and 
then I would talk to them of the queen ; and God is 
good. He would help me to say words that would 
make armed men spring up to save her. I did this, 
madame — for one week I did it. The cowardly 
Republic dared not prevent me for fear of ridicule, for 
who was I to be of any importance ? I did it through 
all Paris : I shouted it at the door of the Convention, 
under the windows of the Temple, that the poor 
queen might hear it and take heart ; I screamed it 
from the galleries of the Jacobins ; and it was all use- 
less — they thought me a poor, harmless lunatic. But 
yesterday the luck changed, a wonderful thing hap- 
pened. The tumbrils passed me on their way to the 
guillotine. As they passed I cried, ‘ Vive la reine ! * 
I spoke to the people ; I fired them ; they followed 
me to the Place de la Revolution to release the poor 
creatures in the tumbrils and to throw the guillotine 
into the Seine. It was like when the tocsin sounds. 
I had won at last, for that mob was mine ; God had 
had put it into my hands. But oh, madame, madame, 
my power slipped through my fingers like water ! I 

l6l M 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


lacked the brains to know how to use it : brains, that 
is the thing — brains, brains 1 The tric6teuses turned 
on me and Couchette, who is my friend and loves the 
queen too. Eh, Couchette, girl ? Ah, but little they 
knew Egl^e. I was a match for them all, for I am 
strong as a giant, and I was not afraid. Afraid of 
their noisy yells ? — not Eglee. And here lam!” 

She stopped breathlessly, and turning her face to the 
pillar against which she stood bowed her head on her 
arm. Her wild, impassioned oratory, the crude 
sincerity of her manner acted like a spell. The salon 
of Madame de Noailles was thrilled out of its levity. 
Here was something that rang true. This girl of the 
people, rude and rough as she was, had a heart as loyal 
as any of them all. And the pathos of it was deep and 
tragic. 

The court of the Conciergerie was silent for the 
time ; the very criminals in the background were 
moved ; the municipal guards on duty slunk sheepishly 
out of evidence as if they blushed for the Republic. 
Eglee’s personality had enthralled them all. The 
aristocrats respected her ; she seemed to have done 
more than they had done for the cause. It was but 
little, insignificant, but she had done what she could ; 
its effect was like the mite of the widow. Madame la 
Duchesse de Noailles, aristocrat to the core, had done 
162 


THE SALON OF MADAME DE NOAILLES 


nothing in comparison. She rose from her seat, and 
going up to Egl^e put her arm round the girl’s waist 
and kissed her. 

“ You are a brave and noble girl 5 I am proud to 
know you,” she whispered. 

Madame de Noailles’ words, her action, the fact 
that she was who she was, was like the straw that 
broke the camel’s back to Eglee. The girl broke 
down completely. The great strain of the past week 
had exhausted her, and the scene with the tricoteuses 
had told on her, for scoff at it as she might it had 
been one fraught with the greatest danger. And now 
to augment the nervous excitement of this came the 
sympathy of the aristocrats that all her life she had 
secretly hungered for. It melted her, and she broke 
into a torrent of sobs that sounded piteously in that 
grim court of death. 

‘‘Hush, hush, my dear,” said Madame de Noailles, 
“ you must not give way ; you are with friends now, 
and will need all your courage to face the Revo- 
lutionary Tribunal.” 

And this woman who had once been one of the 
greatest ladies in France, tried to soothe the girl who 
who was at the extreme end of the social scale from her. 

Two ladies came to her assistance, and between 
them they led the girl behind the women’s grille, 

163 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Oh, madame,” was all Egl6e could ejaculate, 
you are good, you are good — I love you ! ” 

For Nature is very capricious, and sometimes plants 
her tenderest flower, love of goodness, in the rudest 
soil. 


164 


CHAPTER VII 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 



N the next day Egl^e, who had regained her 


V— ^ wonted composure, was sitting on a stool in 
the court of the Conciergerie looking idly about her, 
when she was addressed by a young man, whose 
appearance bore the unmistakable stamp of the 
aristocrat. 

“ In your story yesterday,” he said, you mentioned 
seeing the Due d’Amboise at a masked ball some 
years ago when the queen lost her mask. I am the 
Due d’Amboise.” 

Egl^e stared at him. 

You don’t recognise me, of course,” he said, with 
an air of irritation, ‘‘ I am hardly the same man I was 
five years ago. The Revolution changes everything. 
Yes, I remember now the incident of the child de 
Vaudreuil brought to Trianon and who told the 


165 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


queen some truths about herself she didn’t know 
before. So you were that child ? You have a 
wonderful voice, mademoiselle 5 the five years have 
not changed that.” 

“ And you, monsieur, are the Due d’Amboise ? ” 
said Eglee, passing her hand before her eyes, as if 
brushing away some mist that dimmed them. ‘‘ How 
— how did you come here, monsieur ? I thought you 
were with the Emigres safe on the other side of the 
Rhine. Oh, monsieur, I am so sorry for you. You 
were the first aristocrat I ever saw,” and Eglee looked 
at him wistfully, 

“ Yes, I was an Emigr^. France says to the 
Emigres, ‘ Return if you dare ! ’ I returned, and you 
find me here, caught like a rat in a trap.” 

The Due d’Amboise shrugged his shoulders. 

“But, monsieur,” said Eglee, “why did you 
return ? Why did you not stop where you were 
safe ? ” 

“ The same motive brought me back to Paris that 
tempted you to shout ‘ Vive la reine ! ’ ” 

“You mean that you came to save the queen ?” 
murmured Egl^e, looking at him with a brilliant gaze. 

“ I was sent by the Comte d’Artois to bribe Marat 
to effect the queen’s release. The same day I 
arrived in Paris Marat died ; my mission was, of 
166 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


course, fruitless. I was caught creeping through the 
porter’s gate of my hotel in the Rue de Lille and 
brought here.” 

“Oh, monsieur, it was brave of you to risk your 
life for the queen. You are the bravest man I have 
ever met.” And Eglde looked at him with unfeigned 
admiration. 

“ Such bravery is worthless ; better be a coward 
than to be insulted by Fouquier and sent to the 
guillotine.” 

There was something in his manner that Egl^e 
could not understand. She said nothing. 

“I have no reason to love life,” he went on. 
“The loser pays and I have lost — lost everything — 
wealth, youth, friends, even pride — and now I am 
losing my life. When I had all that I wasted it, I 
have squandered my very name. It is a proud and 
ancient one, mademoiselle. St. Louis made my 
ancestor a duke before the walls of Jerusalem ; and I 
— what have I done for the grand old line ? Nothing, 
but to end it shamefully on the scaffold.” 

He spoke bitterly and looked at Egl^e almost 
defiantly. 

“ You have been true to the Bourbons at any rate,” 
she said. 

As if by intuition she struck the keynote of his 
167 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


character — pride of rank. Her words were the very 
comfort he desired, the only comfort he would have 
accepted. This girl seemed to understand him, he 
felt drawn to her. 

“ It’s the trade of a royalist to follow the king ; and 
the way to the guillotine should be easy because it is 
fashionable — I see what you mean.” And the Due 
d’Amboise walked abruptly away, leaving Egl^e lost 
in exceeding wonder and pity. Never had she so 
fully realised the force of the Revolution till this 
moment when in this embittered man, blighted in the 
flower of his youth by early dissipation, she saw her 
old ideal of manly beauty stripped of his glamour, 
fallen from his high estate. The shock to her was as 
great as if she had seen in the flesh the woman David 
painted in the Conciergerie and was told it was the 
queen she had seen at Trianon. 

Such a nature as Egl^e’s, in which the instincts are 
slowly awakened and ideas are crudely and powerfully 
formed, was not one to lightly submit to subversion. 
The old unaccountable child’s interest in this man 
still continued keen ; but it was no longer reverent. 
That wonderfully beautiful god of the masked ball 
and Trianon lost his divinity in her eyes and became 
a man. She still regarded him as immeasurably her 
superior, for in her royalist opinions Egl6e was utterly 
1 68 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


unreasonable, but he seemed now nearer her own 
level. In the confined space of the court of the 
Conciergerie she was thrown into close contact with 
him and got to know him as he was and not as she 
had romantically imagined him. 

The Due d’Amboise by no means belonged to the 
Philosophe noblesse. Till the Emigration the hit 
motif of his life had been pleasure ; his sole occupa- 
tion the attempt to discover new sensations ; more 
insouciant creature of an insouciant Court there did not 
exist. But the Revolution had rudely ploughed up 
the parterre in which he bloomed. The gay young 
lord for whose sole pleasure the round world was 
made, the handsome gallant of inexhaustible revenues, 
of bright clever wit, of vice refined seven times of all 
its grossness, of intrigue and charming debauchery, 
the corruption of corruption, had left France in the 
haughty huff of the First Emigration. But France 
was not put to shame by the stampede of its noblesse 
over the marches. The Due d’Amboise could not 
take his vast territorial wealth with him, and the 
people burnt his chateau in Amboise and the State 
stamped the ashlar wall of his Paris hotel with its 
motto — Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity ; and his 
broad acres were confiscated and his name proscribed. 
He joined the king’s brothers at Coblentz and added 
169 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


to the poltroonery and imbecility of the Emigres his 
great name, now slender purse, and the debonair froth 
of his youth. As he had been the typical aristocrat 
of the Court of Versailles, so he now became the 
typical Emigre who learnt nothing and forgot 
nothing. All his glitter tarnished by exile, he grew 
arrogant, revengeful, and soured, refusing to acknow- 
ledge facts though like a highwayman they caught 
him by the tliroat. To him and to all his kind 
France was a land forbid. 

But there was in him, though he was quite unaware 
of it, the quality of earnestness, which great misfortune 
alone could arouse. The life of the Emigres on the 
Rhine was anything but couleur de rose. As the 
Revolution proceeded their supplies grew less and less, 
and finally altogether ceased. No class of people 
was ever more suddenly and completely ruined, and 
Coblentz became full of jealousies, dissensions, and 
discontent. The Due d’Amboise, smarting under 
poverty and exile, longed to return to France and find 
it the bed of roses he had known. He tried to kill 
his ennui and vexation by taking an interest in affairs. 
Very young and utterly inexperienced, he was full of 
reckless schemes, of plots — ready to dare anything. 
The Comte d’ Artois was for ever talking of re- 
entering France at the head of a royalist army, of 
170 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


even visiting Paris in disguise, but when the time 
came he reflected twice. So the Due d’Amboise 
fretted on the Rhine poorer, more revengeful, more 
discontented till he undertook, in a rash hour, to buy 
Marat to save the queen. It was a step fraught with 
the greatest danger to him, but he was by no means 
devoid of courage ; moreover, Marie Antoinette had 
in him almost her only supporter among the Emigres, 
who looked upon her as the cause of all their woes, 
and till the Monarchy fell showered her with lampoons 
and vilification. The friends and popularity of that 
for ever memorable and picturesque heyday of her 
life deserted her in her supreme need. Only a handful 
of the hearts that she had won remained to her, but 
these were as true as steel. Unlike most of the 
Emigres, the Due d’Amboise was more chivalrous 
than selfish. With the hot daring of youth, which is 
often mistaken for courage, he tried to save her and 
failed. It made him sullen, haughty, and contemp- 
tuous. He cursed himself and France, and was an 
utterly disillusioned man. In the Conciergerie his 
state of mind was precisely like that of one who gets 
up ruined from a gaming-table. The gaiety and 
attempt to throw off care affected by his caste jarred 
on him. The arrival of Egl^e and the strangeness 
of her arrest awoke his sullen interest. In spite of 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


himself her personality influenced him. Her fearless- 
ness and contempt excited his admiration, and the 
sincerity of her devotion to the queen struck a 
sympathetic chord in his own nature. 

If he seemed to take a malicious delight in dis- 
illusioning her of her royalist views, it was perhaps for 
the sake of hearing the cause so dear to him defended ; 
for nothing could shake Egl6e out of her opinions. 

“ You admire us aristocrats, mademoiselle,” he said, 
with the bitterness he unsuccessfully tried to make 
appear cynicism. ‘‘If you knew us as well as I do 
you would not have jeopardised yourself as you have 
done. Believe me, we are not worth it. We are 
the most frivolous fools that ever chanced to have 
power, and we played with our toy in a foolish way 
till we broke it. In blaming the aristocrats I blame 
myself equally. Do you know, strange as it may 
seem, I am not sorry I am here. I shall hail with 
delight the day I go to the guillotine. At my trial 
I shall take every opportunity to ruin any chance I 
may have of acquittal. I have lived my life, and now 
too late I know what a failure it has been. The old 
times can never come again ; and even if an absolute 
Bourbon and a spendthrift noblesse were once more 
reinstalled at Versailles it would not be the same, for 
I should be different. I tell you, mademoiselle, we 

I7Z 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


aristocrats were the biggest bubble ever pricked ; we 
are not worth a sigh, much less your heroic devotion.” 

‘‘Ah, M. le Due,” replied Egl^e, “ I don’t think 
you mean a word you say. At least, I do not believe 
you, and you will never make me change my views. 
I have never been so happy in my life as since I have 
been in the Conciergerie. The aristocrats here treat 
me so kindly, they almost make me forget what I am 
in the delight of living among them. Ah, that is a 
terrible thought, that I cannot change my past ! You 
have no idea how vile I am j only the Faubourg knows, 
and it treats me as I deserve.” 

E glee’s voice always expressed what she felt ; the 
Due d’Amboise looked at her curiously and said 
kindly — 

“ I could almost feel sorry for you, mademoiselle.” 
She interrupted him fiercely — 

“I am not mademoiselle — you mock me. I am 
plain Egl6e, a fille de joie ! ” 

“ Egl^e,” he said gently, for once without any 
bitterness — “Eglde — it is nicer than mademoiselle. 
Thank you, Egl6e, for letting me call you by your 
name. I like you for your fidelity to the queen. 
You are an example to us all in loyalty. If you will 
let me I should like to be your friend till Fouquier- 
Tinville sends for me.” 


173 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


He looked at her seriously, waiting her answer. 
She felt a strange emotion that she had never before 
experienced. It seemed to her very natural that he 
should wish to be her friend, yet very, very odd. He 
was the Due d’Amboise and she was a fille de joie, and 
what a vast difference between them ! She could not 
meet his gaze, she dared not trust herself to speak ; 
she felt afraid. 

“ You are not angry with me, surely, Egl^e ? ” he 
asked in a gentle, half-sorrowful way. “ By friend, I 
mean you no harm, believe me. But I am such a 
cross-grained, disappointed fellow, and you are just the 
reverse, and I like to talk to you.” 

Egl^e raised her eyes and looked at him ; there 
was no mistaking his sincerity. 

‘‘M. le Due,” she said, with a sort of dignity that 
became her, “ it is such as I who ought to claim the 
protection of such as you. But the Revolution has 
upset everything, I see ; and if a poor girl like me can 
do anything to lighten the great grief of the first 
aristocrat she ever saw and a friend of the queen, 
she will do what she can.” 

“Your hand on it, Egl^e. A cur that has been 
kicked out of its fine kennel goes whining — that’s 
me. It is grateful to any one that speaks kindly to 
it.” 


m 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


The Due d’Amboise was a weak man. The 
thrusts of Fate he first resented, then, as that was of 
no avail, he received them, not with outcry, but 
sullenly, and finally with fatalistic despair. He never 
by any means had sought to face them with bold 
defiance or noble courage. Such weakness is always 
pitiful, but nevertheless when the man is handsome 
and possesses a certain charm that appeals to one, his 
weakness of character is completely lost sight of in 
the qualities that draw one to him. Eglee gave him 
her hand, and on such terms a friendship was formed 
between them. 

The meaning of imprisonment in the Conciergerie 
in nowise troubled her. She considered that the 
Republic had conferred a great honour on her by 
arresting her. Nothing in the world could ever make 
her an aristocrat ; in her opinion that was something 
one had to be born. She never forgot she was a fille 
de joie of the Faubourg, and had never dreamt ot 
aspiring to be called a royalist. But she felt that the 
Conciergerie, where she was in the midst of aristocrats 
who completely ignored her past, gave her the royalist 
cachet. So much can a fixed idea do for one. 

The influence of the aristocrats* society was the 
very soil Eglee needed in which to flourish. Her 
fierce, almost brutal manner became wonderfully 
175 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


toned ; it was caused chiefly by contempt, and in 
the Conciergerie there was nothing to excite that 
emotion. Her fearless deportment, her staunch loyalty 
to the queen, her marked personality, gave her an 
authority in the prison. There was a sense of pro- 
tection about her that those who came in friendly 
contact with her experienced. With all their butterfly 
gaiety the aristocrats had their moments of depression ; 
but Egl6e had nothing to regret, for life had never 
been so luxurious to her before. Her brave and 
fearless manner acted as a tonic to the others. When 
the butterfly-wings grew tired and the butterflies 
fainted, beaten down to the earth by terror, it was 
Egl^e who revived them. In spite of her origin she 
was the strongest character of them all. 

All the aristocrats were drawn to her, and some, 
like Madame de Noailles, honoured her with marks of 
their affection and esteem. The Comte de Beugnot 
in particular regarded her with the greatest interest. 
The novelty of her strong personality broke the ennui 
of his prison life. She was to him a new sensation, a 
curious experience in human nature, a study which he 
pursued with zest. Perhaps in the whole Conciergerie 
there was not to be found a greater contrast than the 
girl of the Faubourg and this academic aristocrat, 
whose aplomb^ whose serene self-possession 
176 


were 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


incapable of being shaken. Many years older than 
the Due d’Amboise, he belonged to the serious and 
thoughtful side of the noblesse. Trained in the 
philosophy of Voltaire, he was an aristocrat because it 
was his caste, but he was also a man of the world and 
a cynic. Such pure loyalty as Eglee he was incapable 
of feeling. To him the divine right of kings was a 
ridiculous pretension ; privately he had a great con- 
tempt for the king and the pitiable weakness of the 
Monarchy. Before the Revolution he was known as 
an Anglo-maniac and was believed to hold very radical 
and subversive political views. He hailed the States- 
General with delight, and was one of the first to 
suggest that the prerogatives of the sovereign should 
be defined. The party with which he identified him- 
self was the Constitutional whose honesty turned into 
duplicity. For neither the Court nor the people had 
he any reverence, his sole care was the effort to 
establish tbe constitution which was to him an abstract 
ideal. But no State has ever been governed by ideals, 
and the impatient Revolution swept him and his party 
away. He was arrested as a Suspect and thrown into 
the Conciergerie, where perforce the overwhelming 
misfortunes of the noblesse and Marie Antoinette, 
v/hom in the day of her splendour he had never liked, 
called forth his humanity if not his sympathy. He 

177 N 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


pitied her and his aristocrat friends as one pities any 
one who suffers. The renovation of France, the 
government of it, interested him as an experiment one 
makes in science. He was a Philosophe aristocrat and 
more dangerous to the old regime than all the corrup- 
tion of the thoughtless, pleasure-at-any-cost noblesse. 
In his soulless cynicism, in his speculative and con- 
descending philanthropy, he carelessly knocked from 
under existing things all supports and was surprised to 
find in the crash that he came down too. Have a revo- 
lution by all means, it is necessary in the pass to which 
things have come, only we will do it in the genteel 
aristocrat way 5 no shocking surprises, no letting loose 
a canaille Democracy with its guillotine and terror 
which you can’t catch again and chain up. To put 
fear into such a man was impossible, he was too 
cynically cool ; depth of character with sincerity at the 
bottom was not in him, neither respect for nor belief 
in anything or anybody. For the rest he was a 
gentleman, polished and charming. 

Eglee interested this man ; she was to him an 
anomaly, and he liked to study her, 

“Aristocracy, indeed ! ” he reflected. “What a general 
overthrow is this when a girl of the streets makes it 
her nest and fights for it with a heroism that none of 
the virtuosos of the salons of Coblentz would have been 
capable of 1 ” 


178 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


But with all his wit and education he did not under- 
stand Egl6e. Nor did she in the least understand him. 
His cynicism, his irony, his cool, well-bred self-posses- 
sion made him seem vastly her superior ; to her he 
was the respository of all learning, which simple and 
uneducated people always respect. She regarded him 
as an aristocrat of the first water whose place must 
have been very near the throne, and she readily dis- 
tinguished the difference between him and the Due 
d’Amboise. The word of the one was to her like an 
oracle, the word of the other that of a mere human being. 

One day, seeing Eglee trying to soothe Couchette, 
who was recovering from a paroxysm of terror, to 
frequent attacks of which she was now subject, the 
Comte de Beugnot offered his sympathy. 

‘‘Your fear is quite unreasonable, child,” he said 
kindly, “ I will wager anything you will get out of 
this all right. You see, Fouquier is too much absorbed 
with his aristocratic acquaintances to think of you. 
And then the guillotine is not half so dreadful as you 
fancy, it is all over in a moment. I assure you my 
friends who drive away from here in the tumbrils are 
quite cool over it. The guillotine really confirms our 
patents of nobility, and we confer the greatest honour 
on the Republic by leaving our CQats-gf-arms on the 
scaffold.” 


179 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Such comfortj while it might salve his own qualms, 
was utterly lost on Couchette. Her only solace was 
in the presence of Eglee, everything else was a fright- 
ful phantasmagoria ; the Conciergerie, the gay 
aristocrats, their coming in and going out, the 
Revolutionary Tribunal, and the guillotine were a 
confused and hideous dream in which only Eglee 
was real. 

A fortnight after the imprisonment of the two girls 
a rumour ran that the queen had arrived over night 
and was confined in one of the cells. The news 
excited the whole prison and threw Egl£e into a 
feverish excitement. 

Was the Queen of France to appear in the court 
of the Conciergerie like all the rest ? Was she at last 
to see Marie Antoinette face to face, to tell her that 
from that day at Trianon there had been of all her 
subjects not one more devoted than herself? to fall at 
her sacred feet as at the feet of God, to lament her as 
His faithful followers lamented Christ on the cross ? 
But the queen did not appear. The whole of that 
day Egl6e was steeped in dull despair. She listened to 
Madame de Noailles’ kindly sympathy without heed ; 
her only reply in a deeply scornful voice was — 

‘‘ How do you expect me to be cheerful, madame ? 
Don’t you know the queen is dying ? ” 
i8q 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


The Due d’Amboise approached her and said 
cheerfully — 

“ Egl^e, my girl, take heart ; we are all down in 
the dumps when you are out of sorts. The 
queen ” 

Egl^e turned on him fiercely with tears of rage and 
grief in her splendid eyes. 

I love her far more than you or any of you here, 
though you are aristocrats and I am only a girl of the 
streets. If I had had your brains, M. le Due, / should 
not have failed to save her ! ” 

The young aristocrat shrugged his shoulders and 
walked away, and Eglee sank back again into her 
apathy. 

The martyrdom of Marie Antoinette was to the 
girl a veritable Calvary. She longed for the queen 
to know that she had done what she could, that her 
loyalty had never wavered. 

For the pathos of this strange attachment lay in the 
fact that it was one-sided. 

The following day many of the prisoners began to 
disparage the queen, accusing her of shameful crimes, 
of being the cause of the Revolution and their own 
misfortunes. Then Egl^e roused herself from her 
apathy. In a terrible voice she commanded silence, 
and threatened to fight any one who dared say one 
i8i 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


word in her hearing against the august martyr. By 
sheer force of character she intimidated the prisoners 
and put a stop to the shameful inhumanity of adding 
their mean prison taunts to the woes of the tragically 
fated queen. Those who had spoken against her 
idol Egl6e observed, and never after addressed them 
by word or look. 

The Comte de Beugnot brought her the news that 
the Baron de Batz had tried, even at the last moment, 
to rescue the queen from the Conciergerie, and that 
his plot had failed. 

“ God Himself seems to have deserted her, Egl6e,” 
he said. “ Who would have fancied that Louis 
XVI.’s beautiful queen, as I remember her twenty 
years ago, would ever come to this ? It is too horrible 
a contrast. Ah well, France can claim the glory of 
having possessed, though of foreign birth, the most 
picturesque queens in history — Marie Stuart and 
Marie Antoinette.” 

Eglde had no idea who the former was, but the 
Comte de Beugnot was undoubtedly a man of great 
learning and knew what he was saying ; at any rate 
he pitied the queen, and Egl^e liked him. He used 
to chat with the guards in the Conciergerie, and by 
diplomatic subterfuge picked up a great deal of news. 
The same day he came to Eglee again and said — 

182 


IN THE CONCIERGERIE 


“ My poor girl, I have bad news for you, it will 
require all your courage to bear it.” 

“Ah, M. le Comte, no news is so bad as that which 
I have already heard of our dear queen being here. 
Speak, my courage is like myself, healthy, it never 
faints.” 

“ I hear Chaumette is planning to insult the queen 
and to show the people that the hated Austrian has 
been degraded to the last.” 

“ Is there no Charlotte Corday to be found to turn 
round a knife in his heart ? ” she asked wildly. 
De Beugnot continued — 

“ Chaumette has proposed to summon you and 
Couchette before the Tribunal and condemn you for 
plotting to save the queen, and to send her to the 
guillotine in the same tumbril with both of you. 
That is my bad news.” 

“ Oh, the dog ! ” cried Egl^e. “ I see the insult. 
The Queen of France and two filles de joie to go to 
the Place de la Revolution together. But the queen 
is so far above us all that the insult will not sting her. 
I will tell the people that I die gladly for her, and that 
to go to the guillotine like that is to make me feel like 
a Princess of the Blood ! ” 

But Chaumette’s maliciously cruel joke was ruled out 
of order by the Tribunal, and the girls were not sent for. 

183 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


On the next day there reached the court of the 
Conciergerie a muffled roar like thunder far off. All 
started up in consternation ; it was such an ominous 
sound that had preceded the ever-memorable Massacres 
of the Prisons. A municipal guard, fearing a riot 
in the Conciergerie in which he might perish, cried 
out — 

“ It is nothing, do not alarm yourselves. It is only 
the Widow Capet leaving the Conciergerie for the 
Place de la Revolution.” 

A profound silence fell on the prison. Madame de 
Noailles and the aristocrat ladies crossed themselves 
and bowed their heads ; the Due d’Amboise and^other 
gentlemen dropped on one knee as in the presence of 
Majesty. And while the saintly Abb6 Emery in a 
solemnly impressive voice recited the Prayers for the 
Dying, Egl^e fell on her knees, sobbing. 


CHAPTER VIII 

HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 

HORTLY after the execution of the queen 



the famous Twenty- two, the Girondin leaders 
in the Convention, arrived in a batch at the Con- 
ciergerie. Of such high political importance was 
their trial that the daily death-rate of the prisons 
considerably slackened, for during the protracted 
examination of these men the Committee of Public 
Safety, at their wits* ends to condemn them, had little 
time to think of less notorious game snared in the 
Twelve Houses of Arrest. 

‘‘ Egl^e,” said the Due d’Amboise to her, ‘‘I foresee 
it will be long before we know our fate. Fouquier is 
going to have his hands full with the Girondins, and 
it will be hard work for him to prove them royalists 
or conspirators against the Republic. The chances 
are we shall be forgotten for a time.** 


185 


A GIRL OF TFIE MULTITUDE 


“Oh, M. le Due,” she replied, “is it not possible 
for you to escape out of this ? Now will be the time, 
when all thoughts are taken up with the Girondins.” 

“ My dear girl,” he said, with his affectation of 
cynicism, “ have I not told you I have ceased to take 
any interest in my life ? I would rather be here 
than in Coblentz. Life there is a hell, nothing but 
perpetual disappointment. I was there and I know ; 
I tell you I am sick of it. And even if I should get 
away to England, can you fancy me in the Faubourg 
St. Antoine of London, turned cook for a living ? ” 

“ Is that what the aristocrats are doing nowadays ? ” 
she asked. 

“ What else do you expect them to do, Eglee, when 
all the rabble of France have been given their property 
by the Convention ? If I escaped from the Concier- 
gerie I should be penniless.” 

“ And would that bring you down to my level ? ” 
The words were uttered absent-mindedly, but 
collecting her thoughts, she added — 

“That was a foolish question of mine, M. le Due. 
Of course, rich or poor, you would always be an 
aristocrat, and I shall always belong to the people.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” he said, with a laugh, 
“ after what you did for the queen you are as much an 
aristocrat as any of us here. You don’t belong to the 

i86 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


people any more for all that you take such pains to 
tell me so half-a-dozen times a day. You are what 
Fouquier calls an ‘incorrigible aristocrat.’ As for 
me,” he added proudly, “ I hate the people, I make no 
secret of it. They can make me a beggar or cut 
off my head, but they can’t take from me the fact 
of my descent from the days of St. Louis.” 

His words or his manner, or both, annoyed her. 
She replied quickly, with scorn — 

“If I were M. le Due d’Amboise and had his brains 
I should escape from this prison. And I should not 
go to the Faubourg St. Antoine of London and turn 
cook ; I should be an aristocrat through and through. 
With such a great name anybody would give me a 
sword ; I should join the royalist army and fight 
for my rights.” And with a toss of her head Eglde 
left him. 

Their conversations invariably ended in this way. It 
was a somewhat turbulent friendship, and, perhaps from 
the very oddity of it, the more interesting to the Due 
d’Amboise. He never took offence at Egl6e’s scornful 
reproofs ; with her they were mere flashes and her 
peace was quickly made. The better she got to know 
him the nearer her own level he seemed to come ; at 
times it seemed to Eglde as if the vast difference in 
rank had disappeared. He treated her with that 
187 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


inimitable court grace which the aristocrats of the old 
regime alone possessed, making no distinction between 
her and Madame de Noailles. She fully realised his 
fallen estate ; to her extravagantly romantic way of 
thinking it was an outrage, and she pitied him exceed- 
ingly. But at other times there was something 
contemptible in his weakness and cheaply affected 
cynicism. Her intercourse with this man was ruffled 
by these two emotions, pity and scorn. They filled 
her thoughts constantly, each contending for supremacy, 
now one, now the other on top. To Egl6e the Con- 
ciergerie was by no means the abode of ennui. 

The Due d’Amboise was not indifferent to her pity 
and comtempt, they were part of a personality that 
was influencing him more than he imagined. He had 
never met any women out of his own rank before ; 
Egl^e was a novel experience. In the days of his 
vanity he would never have noticed her, but in the 
Conciergerie, in common with the rest of the aristo- 
crats, he never thought of her degradation. There was 
something real about her, something rugged and strong, 
like granite. He would have laughed if he chanced to 
picture her in a salon of great ladies, dressed a la mode ; 
yet in spite of her lack of education, in spite of her 
lack of breeding, there was something about the girl 
that all the fine women he had known did not possess. 

i88 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


It was the power to harden the viscid weakness of his 
nature, to galvanise it into a sort of earnestness. In 
the Conciergerie, under the spell of that most potent 
arch-magician, Misfortune, all were equal ; characters 
were stripped of all wrappages and stood in their native 
nakedness — weak and strong, vain and nobly aspiring, 
criminal and pure. 

The idea of love never entered the consideration of 
these two. The Due d’Amboise was aware of the 
splendid physical beauty of Eglde, but the Conciergerie 
was no place for a liaison^ and he was no longer in light 
mood. Coblentz had sobered him. Nor to Egl6e 
had the thought of love ever suggested itself. Their 
acquaintance was merely amusing to one and turbulent 
to the other. 

In the meantime the trial of the Twenty-two was 
rending France and Paris into factions ; and Fouquier, 
driven to his wits’ ends to find testimony that should 
incriminate these men, bethought himself of Madame 
de Noailles, whose brother-in-law, now safe beyond 
the frontier, was known to be a Girondin — the 
Vicomte de Noailles, the aristocrat-patriot, chief 
figure in the tableau of Feudalism abolishing itself, 
sublime tableau done in the pagan style, one of the 
strangest of many strange things produced by the 
Revolution. She was summoned before the Revolu- 
189 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


tionary Tribunal, and appeared there with a proud and 
cold demeanour. This lady, as fragile as biscuit de 
Sevres^ and who all her life, like a priceless piece of 
bric-a-brac, had been preserved, as it were, in a cloud- 
case at the top of the world, did not break in the rough 
hands of Fate. Fouquier’s questions were brutal, and 
offended female dignity flung them back scornfully. 
In a rage that he could not snare her in his pitfalls, he 
insulted her grossly. To whom she made the haughty 
answer — 

Send me to the guillotine, as that is your intent. I 
will have you remember that the de Noailles have the 
prerogative of personal attendance on the Sovereigns of 
F ranee — a prerogative I do not shrink from claiming on 
the steps of the scaffold. The guillotine is a royal 
Calvary to which I shall deem it an honour to pay a 
pilgrimage ! ” 

And Fouquier had blinked his rat-eyes, accounting 
himself very clever to have snared her into such 
treason. 

“ Assassins ! ” yelled Egl6e, her eyes blurred with 
thick tears, when the municipal guards led Madame 
de Noailles away. In her robust physical strength 
and fearless contempt of the Revolution, she felt equal 
to protect the aristocrat lady against great odds, as she 
had done Couchette. She was in the. mood to have 


190 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


sprung on a municipal guard unawares, and strangled 
him. But Madame de Noailles curbed the girl’s un- 
bridled spirit. 

“Eglee,” she said haughtily, “your rage is out of 
place. It is only the people who shriek and wring 
their hands in the tumbrils. Surely you know that 
we aristocrats go to the guillotine with dignity.” 

A deep blush of mortification spread over Egl^e’s 
cheeks, she felt as if she had dishonoured Madame de 
Noailles. Abashed and confused she shrunk away, 
while the guards escorted their brave victim to the 
tumbril. The shriek and the <^a-ira that greeted her 
arrival outside in the street penetrated even into the 
court of the Conciergerie. And to those that heard 
that terrible greeting it was like the cry of Moloch. 

The departure of Madame de Noailles stripped the 
Conciergerie for a time of the last lady of exalted 
rank. Nearly all the aristocrats, both male and 
female, had been executed ; it seemed as if the 
aristocracy was being exterminated. 

The Conciergerie continued to be crowded, but 
now its inmates were a medley of all ranks. From 
the uttermost ends of France, along all highways, 
there tramped on foot towards Paris and the Twelve 
Houses of Arrest a veritable army of Suspects, travel- 
stained, shackled, and doomed beforehand, 

191 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


One day there arrived at the Conciergerie twenty 
peasant women from Poitou, sent by their municipality 
to be tried by the Revolutionary Tribunal. Letterless 
tillers of the soil, they neither understood nor appre- 
ciated the fiat of the Revolution that from an 
aristocrat’s serfs had turned them into an aristocrat’s 
equals, and more than equal. They belonged to a 
district which had protested against the terror of the 
Revolution, and in the hour of triumph a not-to-be- 
contradicted Republic had seized them to prove its 
sovereignty. On arrival at the Conciergerie these 
women, covered with mud and dirt and worn out 
with the fatigue of a long and rapid journey, fell down 
on the pavement of the court and slept. During the 
few days they were in the prison they answered not to 
their names, which nobody knew, but to their numbers, 
which they repeated to themselves as if learning 
them by rote, in a senseless, parrot-like fashion. The 
expression of their faces evinced no appreciation of the 
fate that menaced them ; in the rude strength of 
their bodies and the stolidity of their aspect they were 
like cattle one sees in market-places, that regard what 
is going on around them fixedly and without recog- 
nition. They suffered, but it was the suffering of 
beeves that are being brutally goaded to the slaughter- 
house. 


192 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


Out of pity the Due d’Amboise spoke to one of 
these women a mere crumb of comfort, which was 
wasted on her, for she was too dazed to understand. 
Fatigue, dull fear, and the rapidity with which events 
moved around her, naturally slow-witted and accus- 
tomed to a familiar routine, seemed to confound her 
intelligence. Eglee had, however, noticed him address 
the girl. The thing, insignificant in itself, appeared 
in her eyes of great magnitude. She resented it. 
The Due d’Amboise might talk and make love for all 
that to any aristocrat lady, that was natural, but when 
he descended to address peasants who were beneath 
even her level Egl^e’s wrath was unbounded. In that 
moment she hated and despised him ; and as for the 
peasant girl, Eglee longed to strangle her; she was 
sure the girl had been struck with his beauty and had 
made some sly advance to him. And Egl^e was 
almost inclined to excuse the Due d’Amboise in her 
towering hatred of the peasant. So swift, so new, so 
powerful was this emotion, it frightened her ; she had 
never known anything like it before. The perplexity 
of it made her seek to explain it to herself, but the 
explanation was both unsatisfactory and alarming — it 
made her ashamed of herself. She was afraid to look 
the aristocrat in the face lest he should read something 
there that she could find no name for, and she felt as 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


guilty as if she had committed an ofFence against him. 
What control had she over his actions ? Was he not 
free to bestow his soft glances and sweet speech on 
whomsoever he pleased ? 

The young peasant and her cattle-like companions 
were herded out to the guillotine, and the Due 
d’Amboise had no further conversation with them, 
yet Egl6e was not at ease. In some singular way 
this man seemed to belong to her, and it troubled her 
when she remembered he was an aristocrat of lofty 
rank. These emotions, so foreign to her nature, and 
which now by their violence and perplexity were 
poisoning her peace of mind, were explained to her 
when she least expected and in a highly sensational 
way. 

Fouquier had infamously forestalled justice, and the 
Twenty-two came back for the last time from their 
daily visit to the Revolutionary Tiibunal, doomed to 
the guillotine on the morrow. The scene at the bar 
of the Republic, when Fouquier pronounced the 
death sentence, had been like one of the tableaux of 
antiquity. Valaz6 stabbed himself and fell dead there 
in excess of indignation, the impetuous man ! Verg- 
niaud had a poison-ring to suck, but it contained but 
one dose. It seemed cowardly to desert his companions, 
so he sublimely threw it away, and uplifted the Mar- 
194. 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


seillaise instead, chanting which the condemned 
returned to the Conciergerie with the stark body of 
indignant Valaz6 in their midst. It was a day the 
like of which there had not been in the Conciergerie 
before — a day of evil-boding, illuminated as by divine 
torches with a transcendental courageous despair. 
The death pose of the Girondins acted on the prison 
like the spell of an enchantment, transfiguring the 
crime and treason it contained into a sort of 
martyrdom. To all the summons of the guillotine 
wks a call to sacrifice themselves, it was like the 
dreadful Roman shout, “ Christtani ad leones 
Egl6e longed to be up and doing some grand heroic 
thing. For the first time her imprisonment was a 
shackle which prevented her from becoming im- 
material — that favourite pose, of the French, the pose 
conscious of a world looking on. 

That same day a young man in the service of the 
Republic and his week-old bride had been arrested for 
the murder of a rich relative, and Fouquier had tried 
them and doomed them then and there. On the 
morrow they were to follow the Twenty-two to the 
scaffold. Neither of them felt remorse for the crime 
they had committed, but to be separated from one 
another was a torture such as hell itself had not in 
store for them. They pleaded frantically with the 
*95 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


municipal guards not to separate them, but to chain 
them rather side by side to the walls. There was no 
disguising the sincerity of their appeal ; to witness it 
was as painful as to have experienced it, and together 
with the pending immolation of the Girondins made 
the tense feeling of suspense acute throughout that 
memorable day. Such pleading no human heart could 
withstand, least of all a sentimental Celtic one, especially 
as the point at issue was crime and not the far graver 
one of treason against the Republic. So the municipal 
guards had yielded, and the young murderer husband 
and his young murderess wife spent their last night 
near Eglee, locked in each other’s arms. And ever 
and anon there floated in the darkness Vergniaud’s 
matchless voice leading in the grand swan-song of the 
Girondins. 

It was the first time Eglee had witnessed the love 
of others. To her love had been a mere glib term, as 
she had never felt it she never thought of it. The 
fierce, mad mingling of these two hearts, the undeniable 
obliteration of everything but themselves, the tragic 
happiness in their unity which was indivisible, had a 
painful effect on her. She lay broad awake in the 
dark in the clutch of a nameless, nervous fear. Over 
the night as well as the day the dying Girondins had 
cast solemnity, more full of omen in the dark than in 
196 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


the light ; the night seemed like the funeral trappings 
of the lovers, whose sighs and ecstatic embraces Fate 
was ruthlessly shearing away hour by hour. The 
turmoil of her sensations was so powerful and strange 
Eglde felt she must cry out, that she must speak to 
some one who understood. To her who had never 
known a pain or an ache, such sensations were mad- 
dening. Gradually it was borne upon her that the 
lovers had lost consciousness of their suffering in their 
absolute forgetfulness of all but themselves. Something 
told her as if it were shouted in her ears that such love 
alone was the remedy to cure her indescribable alarm. 
She saw into her own soul ; it was as bare to her as if a 
searchlight had been flashed into it which pierced the 
deepest darkness leaving not a crevice in shadow. 
Then as she lay on her mattress, wide-eyed and 
dripping in a cold sweat, the figure of the Due 
d’Amboise came before her ; she seemed to see every 
lineament of his handsome, dissipated face, every 
familiar gesture of his graceful figure, to hear his soft, 
well-bred voice, to feel his eyes on her. So vivid was 
her fancy she could not by any effort of will banish 
the picture, but it grew more and more real ; his 
presence enveloped her, she heard his breathing, she 
felt his arms around her, his lips pressed to hers in a 
kiss like that of the lovers*. 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


With a stifled cry she sat up on her mattress, 
trembling with shame. Dark as it was, she felt as 
if the whole prison could read her secret : perhaps 
they already knew it, perhaps he laughed at her. She 
put out her hand to touch Couchette who lay asleep 
beside her ; she must awake her ; it was imperative 
to talk to some one, and Couchette was her creature. 
But she hesitated ; her reason, which seemed to have 
wandered, came back to her. No one could sym- 
pathise with her ; she must bear the whole burden of 
her love alone. Love ? Why, that of those two silly 
lovers sighing there in the dark was as nothing to 
what she felt. Alas ! she was a fille de joie soiled 
with the mud of the Faubourg, and a dry sob choked 
her. There was only one thing for her to do : she 
must renounce such a love. She knew it could be 
done, for she had a will of iron ; she could not crush 
it out — ah no ! that she could not do — it was beyond 
her strength ; but she could hide it so deep that she 
herself could scarcely find it again. 

And so throughout that night, while the Twenty- 
two cast on the prison the spell of their pythian 
chant, the Marseillaise, and the lovers clasped each 
other in ecstatic despair, Eglee wrestled with herself. 
Her nature was shaken to its depth and in the con- 
vulsion, passion, like a dormant lion, was aroused. 

198 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 

Her fight was fierce, but no argument could help her ; 
argument never does, it is merely the last fatal weapon 
in the adversary’s hand. With the dawning of the 
day her sleepless eyes fell on the accustomed scene ; 
but the visual sense embraced but one picture — the 
figure of the Due d’Amboise was everywhere. Thus 
Egl^e learned she loved. 

The Twenty-two left the Conciergerie impressively 
enough, stark Valaz(§ jolting on his rude bier in the 
tiimbril along with the living — dauntless challenge of 
a defiant Republic to all who oppose her ! The lovers, 
too, went out on that journey from which there is no 
return, and once more the prison resumed its wonted 
air. But to Eglee it was no longer the same — to her 
the novel brightness of its life had vanished. The miser- 
able cellar in the Rue Fromenteau was preferable now. 
She felt guilty and full of shame that made her wish 
to hide herself ; she dreaded lest her secret should be 
discovered. The thought of loving the Due d’Am- 
boise openly and freely, and being loved in return by 
him, made her dizzy. But that was one of the 
golden apples of life Fate had put beyond her reach — 
such as she had no right to taste it. The curious 
working of her mind that had from the first made her 
conscious and ashamed of her degradation now even 


199 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


questioned the right of such as she to love one so 
removed from her in rank. In her tumultuous and 
boundless passion for the Due d’Amboise she felt as 
if she had committed a sacrilege. To be his mistress 
even was not possible ; if she thought of such a thing 
she put it out of her mind at once. It was not thus 
she loved ; the love she bore this man, so far above 
her, was quite different. Hidden somewhere in the 
ashes of her sullied life there burnt a spark of man- 
kind’s immortal, innate sense of Right and Wrong — 
a spark fanned into a blaze and fed by the circum- 
stances of the Revolution. The spark had become 
a fire now, by the light of which her uncouth soul 
expressed its sense of Right and Wrong as self- 
sacrifice. 

In spite of all inward alarm, E glee’s woman’s- wit 
availed her well when on the morrow of her great 
discovery she and the Due d’Amboise met as usual 
and she knew he did not guess. Having learned 
subterfuge from its necessity, Eglee learnt how to 
disguise her feelings, and to hide the guilty face of 
her love under a mask of affectation. Her manner 
changed to the Due d’Amboise; she was not possessed 
of the skill to continue the old intercourse as if 
nothing had happened. His cynicism, his apathy 
in regard to his fate, his irritating weakness no longer 


200 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


called forth her contemptuous reproof ; her love vvras 
so fresh and strong it forgave all his faults, made 
him the dearer. She listened to what he said absent- 
mindedly, with a dull and stupid air. Their friendship 
lost its verve. 

The Due d’Amboise noticed it, and said to her 
reproachfully a few days after the change in her 
manner — 

“Egl^e, you are like all your sex. The mind 
of a woman is full of change ; it is restless. The 
novelty of the Conciergerie, which was oddly so 
fascinating to you, has worn oflF. You are longing 
for excitement. I used to like to tease you with my 
grumbling to see you flare up, but now you never pay 
attention to what I say. I can’t blame you, for I 
must be a devilish bore and I have lost the art of 
pleasing women. Egl^e, you are eaten up by ennui,^' 

She looked at him curiously and replied — 

‘‘Yes, M. le Due ; you are right. It’s ennui that 
I feel ; I want to do something to drive it away. 
What did the great ladies use to do?” 

“ They were for ever seeking new pleasures j but 
it was hard work.” 

“ The prison life makes me dull ; I am accustomed 
to activity — see how strong I am. I want exercise 5 
I want freedom j I want to distract myself.” 


201 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ I am sorry I can’t help you, Egl^e,” he said, ‘‘ I 
am thinking that what you want is like asking for the 
moon. I wonder if they will send me to the guillo- 
tine to-day.” 

A sudden chill fell on her ; she shivered as if in ague. 

“ What is the matter ? ” he asked in alarm. 

‘‘ I — I don’t feel very well,” she replied, “ it’s — 
it’s the prison life,” and Egl^e smiled faintly. 

The fate of the guillotine, so long postponed, had 
made her cease to think of it. After the trial of the 
Girondins Fouquier’s batches had increased as if to 
make up for lost time. There was a veritable holo- 
caust taking place in the Conciergerie, but so far, as 
if by miracle, neither the name of the Due d’Amboise 
nor that of the Comte de Beugnot had been pricked. 
And Eglee had taken it into her head that they were 
going to get off, forgotten perhaps, like herself and 
Couchette, 

The idea that she had been deluding herself, and 
that he might at any moment be summoned away, 
was terrifying. She who had never known what it 
was to be afraid of the Revolution was afraid now. 

“Oh, M. le Due ! ” she cried, clasping her hands, 
“ you must not die, you must not die ! ” 

He looked at her in surprise. This terror was very 
real. 


20t 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


Ha, Egl^e,” he said, “ our nerves are out of 
sorts this morning. My girl, you need exercise and 
air ; you can’t get the latter, unfortunately, but 
exercise you can. What do you say, shall 'we pace 
up and down the crowded court for half an hour 
every day ? It would do us both good.” 

Egl^e recovered her composure with difficulty, she 
felt she had almost betrayed herself. His comfort was 
very hard to bear, but women, even the most 
untutored, have an instinct that like the shell of a 
tortoise shields them in difficult situations of the heart. 
Ignoring his surprise, Egl^e said proudly — 

“You are young, M. le Due, and life is sweet ; you 
don’t really want to die, it is not natural. Look at 
me ; I am as strong as a giantess and I am not afraid of 
Fouquier and all the rabble of Paris, but I wish to live. 
I can die without fear, ah yes, but still I don’t wish to 
die, for all that my life has been a hard one. I am 
sure it is so with you too. Oh, M. le Due ! your life is 
valuable, you have brains, you are a great aristocrat. 
The little king in the Temple needs friends sadly 
enough, so you say ; for you tell me the Emigres are 
no help to him — this may be so, I do not know. But 
surely, M. le Due, once free you could help him ; you 
are noble, you are loyal, you have brains. Oh, do find 
a way to escape, to be free — I am sure there is a way. 

203 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Do not be caught like a rat in a trap ; make haste 
while there is yet time, I pray you ; if not for your own 
sake, then for His Majesty’s, escape ! ” 

Her voice was low-pitched, and she threw uncon- 
sciously the whole force of her personality into her 
words. Across the Due d’Amboise’s handsome face, 
perhaps the handsomer for the pallor of dissipation 
which seemed to heighten the natural hauteur of his 
manner, there passed the shadow of a deep earnestness. 
For a brief moment he felt sincere in spite of himself, 
and he thrilled with a feeling that all the grandeur of 
Versailles had never effected. Had he known it, it 
was seed sown in soil tilled to receive it, for Misfortune 
had made him serious, as it does all entangled in its 
net. The frivolity of his heyday was gone beyond 
recall ; the Revolution that had knocked his pedestal 
from under him bringing him down with a crash, the 
sudden menace of death, as it were, at the banquet of 
youth, were the only facts that could astonish his 
butterfly soul and shrivel up his gaudy tinsel wings. 

“ Eglee,” he said earnestly, “ if I were free and had 
some one like you near me to keep me to the mark, I 
believe I should be capable of great things. That’s it ; 
I want some one to keep me to the scratch. I have 
visions of myself somewhere under the stars — king’s 
minister and all that — but they fade away as quickly as 
204. 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


they come ; they are mere flashes of what might be but 
never will be ; for I am weak, Eglee, cursedly weak. 
Fool, fool that I was ! Instead of mistresses I should 
have sought an Egeria ! ” 

For the moment he was transfigured, he was the 
ideal Due d’Amboise that the fille de joie had so 
fantastically pictured to herself. 

“Ah, M. le Due,” said Egl6e very earnestly, “try 
to escape — oh, try ! ” 

But the scales fell on his eyes again immediately. 
The spark had failed to ignite him, and as if ashamed 
of himself he lightly changed the subject. 

The weeks passed, chasing one another with 
electrical velocity throughout broad France, but 
lagging slow-footed in the prisons. And as if by 
miracle the name of the Due d’Amboise continued to 
escape the notice of Fouquier. Egl^e had her love 
well in hand now ; it had been a fierce struggle in her 
wild nature to hide it from the Due d’Amboise, to 
make it obey her. That she should have struggled 
at all was an anomaly, but her code of ethics was a 
crude one. It would be hard to discover how she had 
acquired it, for the Rue Fromenteau was not a school 
in which filles de joie learnt passionate loyalty and self- 
sacrificing love. The old friendly relation of these 
two prisoners so antipodal in rank existed the same to 
205 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


all outward appearance, a sort of passing wayfarers’ 
mutual greeting. But its platonism was one-sided 
now ; to the man it was still merely a habit that 
lightened the tedium of the prison. 

And as they paced the court of the Conciergerie, as 
they sat side by side on a bench against the walls, the 
ground-note of all their talk was escape, escape. It 
was EgHe’s sole, never-ending theme ; and on her 
mattress at night she puzzled those poor brains of hers 
over it — all to no purpose. The Due d’Amboise was 
strong in his weakness ; life was alluring, its rewards 
were worth trying for, but he was out of the running. 
To make a dash for liberty and the plums of the world 
that he knew to be there he never tried. As he had 
wasted his chances in the glittering past, so he wasted 
them now, wilfully making hope more illusive and 
escape more difficult. There were many noblemen in 
France like him — men full of promise and indolence, 
which are the parents of weakness. If there had been 
fewer the fall of the Monarchy in 1789 would not 
have ended in the crash of 1792. 

No salon of the old Court was ever so full of gossip 
and scandal as the Conciergerie. The relation of one 
prisoner to another and the cynical speculation as to 
who would be the next to go to the guillotine were 
the chief topics of conversation and discussed with 
206 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


equal venom and glibness. The friendship between 
the aristocrat and the fille de joie could not fail to be 
commented on, and as always the wrong and wicked 
interpretation was put upon it. 

For some time the Due d’Amboise and Eglee were 
quite unaware that their friendly intercourse was the 
talk of the prison. The aristocrat, perfectly honest in 
his liking for the girl, had not the least ulterior 
thought, and therefore did not fancy anybody else 
had. And Eglee, who had satisfied herself that the 
Due d’Amboise did not guess her secret, considered it 
to be equally well hidden from the rest. They were, 
however, both enlightened abruptly. 

The Comte de Beugnot had guessed Egl^e’s secret 
long before she herself was aware of it. To this astute 
and cynical man she was a study in human nature, and 
he microscopically observed her entire character. 

“ Eglee,” he said, “ did it never strike you that 
if Chaumette had carried out his intention to send 
you to the scaffold with the queen, your loyalty 
and zeal in her behalf would have been better un- 
expressed ? ” 

“ Ah, but how could I foresee that my admiration 
for her would heighten her misery? Yet, M. le 
Comte,” she said sadly, “ I know all the villainy of 
the people and I should have foreseen Chaumette’s 
207 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


attempt. But I loved the queen so much I had to 
prove my love for her in some way. You see, I have 
not the cleverness of the great ladies. At any rate,” 
she added, as if his words troubled her, “ Chaumette 
did not succeed after all.” 

“None more pleased than I,” he replied. “But in 
spite of all that, my poor Egl^e, if you had gone 
to the scaffold with the queen there would not 
have been any difference between the two of you, 
you would have appeared her equal.” 

“Yes, but I should have properly fooled the cursed 
knaves.” 

“ And how ? ” 

“ How ? In the very middle of the route I should 
have thrown myself at her feet and neither the axe nor 
the devil should have made me rise ! ” 

The Comte de Beugnot regarded her curiously, 

“ Where did you get this hero-worship ? ” he asked. 
“ Egl6e, I admire it sincerely ; if we had more of 
your kind in France these times would have been 
impossible. You were born five hundred years too 
late ; such sincerity as yours belongs to the days 
of Joan of Arc, it is an anachronism in the Year 
One of Liberty.” 

Sincerity, M. le Comte, that you regret so glibly as 
an anachronism, in faith, not in the days of chivalry 
208 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


was there so much of it as now. Since the early 
Christians worshipped the Unseen God in the cata- 
combs there has been no degree of sincerity equal to 
this of the People in Revolution. But the wise Comte 
de Beugnotand the foolish Due d’Amboise would both 
fain resent the truth of such a statement. They refused 
to take seriously a Fact clad in a sheet of flame from 
Tophet, in their opinion there was an etiquette of 
Facts to be observed. Gentlemen, the sincerity of 
Eglee which you both admire so much because you 
did not expect it of her, is merely the sincerity of the 
great Fact of the Revolution of the People freakishly 
perverted. 

The conversation of the Comte de Beugnot was 
always listened to by Eglee with great respect. His 
suave, cultured manner impressed her, and as she was 
too ignorant to understand the half of what he said, 
his knowledge seemed to her vast. She had no 
answer to make to him now when he talked to her 
of hero-worship and the anachronism of sincerity. 
He went on dispassionately, like one making an 
experiment in science — 

“And in your loyalty to the monarchical principle 
which makes you appear to take a sort of pride in your 
inferiority, I wonder if anything could contravert it — 
say love P ” 


209 


p 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“I do not understand you, M. le Comte,” said 
Egl^e, with an inward sensation as if she did half 
understand him. 

“ I mean, you who declare yourself unworthy to 
raise your eyes to the queen, even when she ceases 
to be queen and goes like any criminal to the 
guillotine, you who look on us in a most extra- 
ordinary way, as if we were demi-gods — which I assure 
you we are not — I wonder what you would do if by 
some curious chance you should conceive a real passion 
for an aristocrat ? ” 

Her heart was in her throat, she stared at him 
in suspense. The Comte de Beugnot had not the 
least wish to hurt Egl6e’s feelings — in fact he would 
have gone out of his way to do her a kindness ; but he 
did not intend to lose this fine chance of dissecting 
a character whose novelty amused him. Without 
appearing to notice her discomposure he continued 
kindly — 

“There are instances, in the pagan mythology, 
Egl6e, of human beings who in worshipping the gods 
as gods fell in love with them, as human beings. The 
step from veneration to love is very easy, and it is very 
natural. Now, for instance, if you fell in love with 
an aristocrat, I wonder what would become of your 
idea of your own past. I should say you would 


210 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


forget all about it. When the pagans loved the 
gods I don’t think they thought much of the difference 
between them.” 

Two great unshed tears glistened in Eglee’s eyes. 
So this clever man had discovered her secret ; perhaps 
the whole prison knew it, some enemy would blurt it 
out to the Due d’Amboise and their friendship would 
cease. She had none of the arts of the educated 
world ; she knew not the slightest how to dissemble 
her feelings, to cleverly parry his insinuations. 

“ Oh ! M. le Comte,” she cried in an agony there 
was no disguising, “I love him, why or how I 
cannot tell. It came to me like my love for the 
queen. But oh, monsieur, I implore — I implore you 
to be merciful to me ! Do not betray me ; do not 
let the Due d’Amboise know ! ” 

“ Hush, Eglee ! hush, my girl,” he said softly, 
‘‘ the whole Conciergerie will see you and hear you 
and guess — hush ! ” 

‘‘I do not know what you mean about gods and 
pagans, M. le Comte, I am not learned like you. But 
I know I am a fille de joie — there were none in the 
Faubourg poorer or worse than I and Couchette. The 
Due d’Amboise is very great ; his name was given him 
by St. Louis ; he is very far, far above But, my God! 
I love him — I cannot, cannot help it, M. le Comte. I 


2II 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


have tried, but I can’t ; and if he knew he would 
laugh at me, he would despise me ! Oh, have mercy 
on me, M. le Comte, for you are kind and good and 
great ! ” 

“You need fear nothing from me, Eglee,” he said 
kindly, and added as if to encourage her, though his 
words, unknown to him, were to her like the siege 
of a temptation there was next to no chance of 
resisting, “ but you make a mistake to think you are 
so degraded and that he is so high above you that your 
love is an insult to him. The Comtesse du Barry was 
once only Jeanne Vaubernier, quite as insignificant 
as you ; and are you sure that d’Amboise himself doesn’t 
love you ? If he does, I know nothing of love, or 
your confounded past you insist so much on will 
be to him shrivelled up like a moth in a candle 
flame. Believe me, Egl^e, love makes no distinction 
of rank.” 

She shook her head sadly and repeated — 

“ You will not betray me, I implore you ! ” 

“I am your friend, my girl,” he said as he left her. 

Eglee went at once to the women’s grille^ and 
throwing herself on her mattress tried to compose 
herself. But peace could not come to such a wild, 
passionate nature easily j she could think of nothing 
but that her secret was betrayed and the thoughts 


212 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


suggested by the Comte de Beugnot’s words. Oh ! 
if she could but kiss the feet of the man she loved ! 
If she could but put her lips to his and feel his arms 
about her ! And red with shame she buried her face 
in the mattress, and clenched her fists like one in pain, 
but no moan came from her lips. 

The Comte de Beugnot was satisfied with his ex- 
periment ; it had turned out exactly as he expected. 
The Conciergerie was not so lively but that a little 
romance would enliven it, and he felt genuinely sorry 
for Eglee. Between himself and the young Due 
d’Amboise there was nothing in common. The 
Comte de Beugnot, in the days of the old rigime^ 
had regarded him as an empty-headed, dissolute boy. 
And for the Comte de Beugnot the Due d’Amboise, 
if he ever thought of him at all, had a priggish dis- 
like. It was not the society of such men as de 
Beugnot that the Due d’Amboise and his intimates 
had coveted either at Versailles or at Coblentz. The 
close contact of a mutual imprisonment in the Con- 
ciergerie had by no means ripened into friendship. 
The elder man, from his cool height of polished sar- 
casm and cynical culture, looked on the younger with 
contempt, which a common misfortune concealed. 
The younger regarded the elder with a sort of envious 
admiration for his attainments, which shone the 
213 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


brighter in comparison with his own lack of mental 
accomplishments. The calm attitude of the Comte de 
Beugnot, the even balance of his mind against which 
misfortune broke ineffectually, was a constant poignant 
reproach to the Due d’Amboise, who knew very well 
that his own attempt at fatalistic .cynicism was a 
failure. Under other circumstances the Comte de 
Beugnot would never have thought of studying the 
character of this aristocrat-rake awakened too late to 
seriousness. And now in applying his microscopic lens 
to the Due d’Amboise he did so with condescension. 
He knew that the aristocrat liked Eglee — that was easy 
enough to see — and for her sake he would endeavour, 
if possible, to excite a livelier emotion. He did not 
consider the nature of the interest he hoped to create 
in the Due d’Amboise, he did not in the least care 
whether it were base or noble. Perhaps he thought 
that in any case in such a man it would be base, but 
that was not the question. His sole idea was in some 
slight way to benefit Eglee, in whom he was interested. 
He had too much tact to attempt to enlighten the 
Due d’Amboise as to Eglde’s passion save by subtle 
suggestion, and he prided himself that he knew human 
nature too well to doubt the result. At the least 
d’Amboise’s vanity would be flattered, at the most 
Eglee would enjoy a little happiness while her 
214 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


imprisonment lasted or till the guillotine ended 
it. 

Daily contact had given to both men a certain free- 
dom of address, and on the first occasion that offered 
itself the Comte de Beugnot, cunningly leading the 
conversation on to the Emigres, said lightly — 

“ You didn’t leave a wife or a heart that’s breaking 
for you on the other side of the Rhine, did you, 
d’Amboise ? My poor wife lying hid in Paris at 
this moment is so concerned about me that I am 
in constant dread lest she will be incautious and be 
arrested by the Republic. I have managed to get 
messages to her, but instead of calming her they seem 
to heighten her anxiety. The women we love who 
love us are apt to put a spoke in the wheel of our 
philosophy.” 

“ Ah, I was somewhat wiser than you after all, de 
Beugnot,” laughed the Due d’Amboise ironically. 
‘‘ My troubles are purely personal. My lady friends 
at Coblentz are all dry-eyed, and there hasn’t been a 
quaver of a heart for me since I entered this. No ; 
neither wife nor mistress have I to lament me, yet 
I can boast of more victories than the Great 
Cond6.” 

“Yes,” said the Comte de Beugnot, “battles, I 
grant you. But as for victory, my friend, you leave 
215 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


it in doubt when you say Coblentz is dry-eyed ; one 
generally has a trophy to show.” 

“ A free-lance eats and drinks his plunder ; he never 
burdens himself with spoils. But pray, de Beugnot, 
what are you trying to find out ? for though I am not 
as quick-witted as you are, I know there is something 
behind your words.” 

Without being in the least disconcerted the Comte 
de Beugnot said — 

Do you know, d’Amboise, I am glad I have a wife 
and children torn with anxiety for me. There is a 
selfish comfort in being loved.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” replied the Due d’Amboise, “ I have 
found little substance in that article. I daresay 
many women would have been glad to call them- 
selves Madame la Duchesse d’Amboise, and in the 
course of things I should undoubtedly have done some 
one that honour. But from what I have seen of 
matrimony I should not have expected my wife to 
follow me doggedly like a peasant’s woman wherever 
ill-luck drove me.” 

“ That is because you would have chosen a lady of 
your own rank, and they are not invariably faithful in 
misfortune. If you had been rash enough to make a 
mhalliance like the young Marquis de BeaufFrement, 
who married his steward’s sister, perhaps like him 
216 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


through a connection with the people you might 
escape the guillotine.” 

“I should have pleased myself, M. de Beugnot,” 
the Due d’Amboise answered coldly. 

“I mean no offence, d’Amboise. I assure you, 
from what I know of a wife’s devotion, I would 
seek fidelity in any rank ; it is worth any sacrifice 
to possess it.” 

“ M. de Beugnot, I do not follow you. Will you 
enlighten me as to your motive for this apparent 
cross-examination ? ” 

“ Perhaps, unknown to yourself, you did leave wet 
eyes at Coblentz, Would you not be pleasantly sur- 
prised to find one of your spoils in Paris, perhaps in 
the Conciergerie ? ” 

The Due d’Amboise curled his lip scornfully. 

“ Your question is too personal, M. le Comte. I 
told you I had no trophies.” 

‘‘Well, the prison thinks differently. There is 
as much scandal here as in any salon. See here, 
d’Amboise, we are almost the sole aristocrats left in 
the Conciergerie. It is absurd for us to quarrel ; in 
spite of ourselves a common misfortune draws us 
together. We owe it to our caste to uphold one 
another, I am sure you will agree with me.” 

“I am quite aware of the obligations of my rank,” 
217 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


said the Due d’Amboise proudly. “The Revolution 
has stripped me as well as yourself of everything, but 
I hope it will take more than the guillotine to deprive 
us of chivalry. Now will you oblige me by telling 
me what is behind all this petty gossip of the 
prison ? ” 

“ This bourgeois canaille,” said the Comte de 
Beugnot, looking fixedly at the young aristocrat, 
“ pretends to be scandalised that a man of your lofty 
rank should try to lighten the tedium of prison life 
by practising the gentle art on a fille de joie when 
there are other ladies here more worthy of your 
regard.” 

“You surprise me, de Beugnot; surely I am 
innocent of the charge ! ” There was no doubting 
the sincerity of his astonishment. 

“ I readily believe you,” said the Comte de 
Beugnot, “ and as man to man, as one aristocrat in 
misfortune to another, as one who knows the treasure 
it is to possess a woman’s heart no matter how it is 
wrapped up to one who is sceptical of its value, let me 
take the liberty to advise you to keep the trophy of 
the next victory you win in love, it will be worth it.” 
And the Comte de Beugnot moved away with a 
comfortable feeling that he had gracefully accom- 
plished what he desired. 


218 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


He was sorry that this man had been able to inspire 
love in Egl6e, he felt that such devotion as she was 
capable of was worthy of a nobler object. But he 
was philosopher enough to know that the heart is 
guided entirely by caprice, and that his help rather 
than his advice was more to the point. As for the 
Due d’Amboise, the Comte de Beugnot considered his 
character too obvious to be worth studying, but in 
this the man of the world made the mistake common 
to his kind. He unconsciously allowed prejudice to 
bias him ; a character that one looks upon with 
contempt and as patent to any one is not unfrequently 
the character the most difficult to comprehend, the 
one most worthy of the critical scalpel of the student 
of human nature. 

The Due d’Amboise was honestly surprised. So 
the platonic friendship had turned into love ? He was 
conscious of a passing flash of pity for Egl^e. How 
she must have struggled to hide it from him ! Then 
he laughed bitterly to himself. So he who had once 
been the pet of the Royal entourage had won the heart 
of a fille de joie of the Faubourg St, Antoine ? It 
seemed to make his downfall complete, to prove the 
conclusiveness of the Revolution. He was an utterly 
disillusioned man ; degradation was his portion, and the 
guillotine was his prospect, fixed and sure. It galled 
219 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


him to be the subject of the lewd amusement of 
scandal-mongering canaille ; he had never had a 
wrong thought in regard to Eglde in all their 
acquaintance ; let the prison say what it liked he 
would snap his fingers at it ; what was its opinion to 
him ? And so Egl^e loved him ? It explained the 
capriciousness of her conduct, her deep interest in 
his welfare, her desire that he should escape. De 
Beugnot’s words fired his fancy, in spite of himself his 
cheeks flushed with pride. A ray of pleasure fell into 
the morose Conciergerie, a faint flicker of the riot of 
the sunbeams of the past ; it had fallen athwart him 
and, doomed as he was, before he went to the guillotine ' 
he would bask in it. Yes, from a frail marquise to a 
fille de joie of the people, he would try the whole 
gamut. And what a splendid specimen of woman 
was Eglee ! The thought excited him ; he saw her 
with new eyes. She was no longer the strange sibylline 
girl whose sincerity had awakened earnestness in him, 
whose companionship magnetically rayed forth the 
sympathy his bitter soul craved. He did not think of 
a deeper, nobler meaning to love ; to him it was now 
as it had always been, as he had been trained to regard 
it — passion. His life was a failure, the little span left 
to him was being ended in degradation ; de Beugnot’s 
words filled him with a sudden and swift desire — a 


220 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


desire to taste an old pleasure of the past once again 
before he went to the guillotine. The thought made 
him reckless. The publicity of a Uatson in the prison 
had no shame for him, his self-respect was utterly gone 
in the Revolution ; and as for hers, why, wasn’t she as 
she herself said a fille de joie of the Faubourg, a girl 
with a past impossible to forget ? 

His eyes eagerly scanned the court of the Concier- 
gerie in search of her. She was sitting on a stool 
with her head leaning against one of the sombre 
pillars and an absent regard in her fine eyes. Her 
rough and unveneered character formed with such 
difficulty gave to her irregular face a force and a 
peculiar beauty of its own. She was an animate 
picture of perfect health and strength. His eyes 
feasted on her. For the first time he noticed the 
extreme poverty of her dress. The fantastic clothes 
she wore were old and dirty and ragged ; the 
tric6teuses had nearly stripped her naked, but she had 
patched the shreds together with great care, having 
felt a shame in the midst of the aristocrats ; and here 
and there in her sleeves where the holes were too big 
to be mended the white skin of her arms was exposed. 
She had lost her neckerchief, and the fluted tower of 
her throat was bare, making the half-hidden pediment 
whence it rose suggestive of sculptured marble. 


221 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


The Due d’Amboise approached her cautiously. 
She was already snared, but before he devoured her 
he would fascinate her. All the long unused arts 
of the Adonis of Versailles were requisitioned ; he 
knew every aristocrat trick of the game, he was a 
past-master in their use and they had never failed him 
with his high-born mistresses ; even a Princess of the 
Blood had owned him irresistible. On such an 
impressionable girl as Egl6e, already predisposed in 
his favour, they would be irresistible, and he wondered 
that he had never thought of her before in this light. 

He stood beside her leaning gracefully on the pillar 
against which her head rested. 

‘‘Do you know what the whole prison is saying 
about us, Egl^e ? ” he said without any preamble. 

She looked at him with terror in her eyes and did 
not answer. 

“They say that you and I are in love, and even 
more than that. They say that I have so little 
dignity of my position as to amuse myself with a 
girl of the people.” 

Eglde rose from her stool agitatedly ; her knees were 
so weak she could scarcely stand, but, remembering 
what de Beugnot had said about curious eyes , and 
ears everywhere, with a mighty effort she controlled 
herself. 


222 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


‘‘ The canaille lied, of course,” he went on, and the 
whispered manner of his words was like a caress, ‘‘but 
their idea was not so bad ; what do you think ? ” 

To her, who for over a week had struggled with 
every phase of her passion, analysed it, purged it of 
impurity in some curious way, made it ideal, sacred, 
there was something unspeakably torturing in his 
manner. It froze her heart, for it told her what she 
knew, yet dreaded to know, that the Due d’Amboise 
did not love her. 

“ M. le Due,” she said, with dignity, “ remember 
you are a great aristocrat ; you will do nothing, I am 
sure, to give a handle of contempt to this canaille.” 

He read her like a book now and knew that she 
was referring to her own lowliness. It was as if she 
renounced him, and he imagined the heroic effort of 
the self-sacrifice. Her manner was a reproach, but 
the temptation was strong on him, and he whispered 
passionately — 

“ Egl^e, suppose what they say is true — suppose you 
care for me ! ” 

She sank down on the stool again unable to stand. 
Surely it was presumption in her to dream of a pure 
love ? 

He saw his advantage, and bending over her con- 
tinued in the same whisper — 

223 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


EgHe, you love me ! ” 

She raised her eyes to his and murmured — 

“ Yes, I love you.” 

It was a solemn avowal and in her voice it sounded 
tragically impressive. It made him feel mean, dis- 
honourable, cruel ; it was like a dog fondly licking its 
master’s hand which it knows is about to kill it. 

“ Do with me what you want, how can I resist ? ” 
she said, with a sad seriousness. “Ah, M. le Due, you 
aristocrats, who are so fair and so cruel, little know 
how you bruise the people who loved you once. I 
hoped grander things of you, I wanted you to be true 
to your class ; with your name and brains, think what 
aid you could be to the king 1 Ah, M. le Due, I 
beseech you even now bestir yourself, escape while 
there is yet time — think how much may depend on 
you ! Don’t waste your time in trifling over a poor 
girl like me, a mere cheap toy you will tire of playing 
with and throw aside when you have broken it. I 
love you, I am your slave to do what you will with j I 
would die for you ; it is all I am worth ; but you, 
monsieur, have riches and honours and joy waiting 
for you. Oh, remember you are an aristocrat and 
think of what lam! I love you, ah yes I but do not 
treat me like the rest — like the people have done ; 
find a mistress worthy of your rank and leave me to 
love you in my poor way.” 

224 


HEARTS AND ARISTOCRATS 


The sad and reproachful earnestness of her words 
stung him to the quick, it disarmed him. He had not 
expected any resistance, least of all such resistance as 
this. He remembered what de Beugnot had said of 
love ; somehow it flashed on him that he was being 
given a chance by destiny that would make his life 
worth living ; he saw himself as he was and what he 
might become in spite of a vanished Versailles and the 
Revolution. Weak, unsteady of purpose, reckless, he 
felt it was his last chance. Once again her magnetic 
influence touched what there was of earnestness in 
him. He regarded the fille de joie in an entirely new 
light. 

“ By Heaven ! ” he swore, “ Eglee, you are right. I 
whl make the effort to escape out of this, and when 
free to be a man. But only on one condition — you 
must help me. Your power over me makes you 
mine, you are necessary to me. What do I care for 
your birth, for your past ? No great lady ever had 
such power over me as you, the power to make me 
feel serious. I can’t do without you, Eglee — you are 
mine, mine ! ” 

He spoke very softly so that none should overhear 
him, but the words were rapid and passionate. Perhaps 
he himself did not understand what he meant. Love 
it certainly was not, and if it were passion it was 
225 


Q 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


decidedly purged of grossness. He believed himself 
to be sincere. 

To Egl^e his words and his manner were a revela- 
tion. He had said she was necessary to him, and he 
meant it ; in the state of mind she was in she readily 
accepted it as a proof that he loved her. She trembled, 
her strength was dissolved ; a delicious ecstasy 
pervaded her from head to foot like the trance of holy 
annunciations. They had met on the same level at 
last 1 

So much for the experiments in the science of 
human nature made by that astute Philosophe aristocrat 
the Comte de Beugnot. The result was a prison- 
flower sprung from the sterile soil of the Conciergerie, 
blooming there for a while and then uprooted as a 
weed and thrown out on the dunghill of the 
Revolution, 


226 


CHAPTER IX 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 

O NCE shaken out of his apathy and given an 
object the Due d’Amboise set himself to 
accomplish it with an energy one would not have 
imagined such a man to possess. Like all men, he 
had in him the making of a useful member of society. 
The accident of birth had hitherto been unpropitious 
to the development of the quality of seriousness. The 
idle luxury of Versailles had given full play to all that 
was frivolous in him, and the bitter atmosphere of 
Coblentz had sobered him without bracing him. In 
exile he had awakened to a stunted, distorted growth ; 
planted in such a soil as he had been the only fruit 
that he could produce was sour and innutritions. All 
his dissatisfaction and such energy as came from it had 
centred in the manufacture of plots. The fine 
visions inspired by Egl^e’s personality — visions of being 
227 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


king’s minister, of a more solid happiness than he had 
ever known, of escape, all resolved themselves into — 
plots. Ambition was to be gratified by their aid ; he 
was to become the man he felt he had in him to be- 
come by — plots. To him they were the sine qua non 
of all success ; he knew no other road to the accom- 
plishment of an end ; from the quest of a new mistress 
to the quest of a seat at the council of the king 
everything depended on — plots. In common with all 
aristocrats, with all Frenchmen of the period, he pre- 
ferred intrigue to frankness. To be frank was to be a 
fool ; all the great men he had known, even the 
frivolous men and women of his set, knew the value 
of intrigue above frankness. It was in the very air he 
breathed. Events conspire with success or failure was 
the axiom of the old regime. What was the Revolu- 
tion itself but the most successful of plots ? Was 
not its existence due to the intrigues of Egalite 
d’Orleans, the Jacobin Prince of the Blood ? In this 
question of escape, which was the first step in a new 
career, a plot of some sort was a necessity. For once 
he did not regret Coblentz, it was par excellence the 
chief school of intrigue in Europe. The experience 
gained there had given him a nimbleness of wits that 
would be of the utmost value to him now. He had 
resolved to escape from the Conciergerie, and he 
228 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


embarked on the dangerous undertaking with the 
coolness of a professional plotter. 

“ There is risk,” he said to Egl^e, “ in trusting co 
the future to be as unmindful of us as the past. Every 
hour we remain here is full of danger. Because 
Fouquier has forgotten me so long does not prove that 
the chance sight of my name on his list will not jog 
his memory. We must escape as soon as possible. 
Failure means death ! ” 

The Due d’Amboise spoke with the confidence of 
one who feels sure of the game he plays. 

‘‘It is easier for one to escape than two,” said 
Eglee. “ Plan for one, then, M. le Due.” 

“ Never,” he replied. “ Remember the bargain, 
without you I make no effort.” 

Eglee looked at him with eloquent eyes. 

The first rudiment of a plot is to avoid suspicion ; 
and the Due d’Amboise, who, as it were, understood 
the technique of intrigue, impressed on Eglee how 
imperative it was that the prison should not guess 
their intentions. He even insisted on a pretence of 
coolness between them. 

This did not appear unnatural to Eglee ; she 
acquiesced as a matter of course. But as if to help 
her lover she suggested they should take the Comte de 
Beugnot into their confidence j she felt that his advice 
229 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


would be invaluable, for he had friends in Paris. The 
Due d’Amboise rejected the proposition. 

“ No,” he said, “ I do not know an instance where 
a prisoner has escaped by aid from friends ; they 
invariably fail at the last moment. We must make 
use of our enemies.” He would trust to nothing 
but his own intelligence ; the stake was too serious 
for him to try experiments to win it. 

Nothing could be more lax than the vigilance of 
the prisons of Paris at this period, but the loose disci- 
pline of the Republic was remedied by the Argus- 
eyed suspicion of the prisoners themselves. They 
were the real jailers ; it was even more essential 
to throw them olF the scent than the guards on duty. 
Fouquier’s Plots in the Prisons had made each prisoner 
preternaturally suspicious of his neighbour ; the least 
attempt at escape that was detected would be instantly 
frustrated, for it would endanger the lives of all. A 
Plot in the Prison meant a holocaust of the prison. 

The Due d’Amboise was of a sudden a changed 
man. He who had formerly taken not even a curious 
interest in the prison life observed now minutely every 
detail of the Conciergerie. The municipal guards 
especially attracted his critical attention ; it was to 
them that he looked for the success of any plan of 
escape he formed. They often broke the weary 
230 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


monotony of their duty, which from its close con- 
finement they all heartily detested, by chatting with the 
prisoners. In a few rare cases a chance conversation 
developed an interest that befriended a prisoner at 
the Revolutionary Tribunal. These jailers were with- 
out exception sansculottes to the core — men driven 
rabid by the Revolution, men whose enraged patriotism 
had done the dirty work of the Republic, and whose 
services it flatteringly recognised by the gift of a petty 
official post. They were not worse than their kind 
under other conditions ; some were surly and insulting, 
others were of a milder disposition, susceptible to pity, 
and even to bribery, but this phase of their characters 
was rarely tested on account of the poverty of the 
prisoners. 

In one of these men Eglee recognised a youth of 
the Faubourg whom she had formerly known by 
sight. 

Do you think that boy is capable of being won 
over, Eglee ? ” asked the Due de Amboise. “ I do 
not profess to read character, but I should say he 
would be an easy prey to temptation. Properly worked 
on he might help us.” 

remember seeing him in the Faubourg, M. le 
Due,” she said. ‘‘ His name is Lange ; he was once a 
waiter at the Caf6 Tricolor, but he used to idle about 
231 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


the streets most of the time and follow the tumbrils. 
I shouldn’t trust him.” 

Egl^e,” said the Due d’Amboise, regarding the 
youthful guard furtively, “ you must speak to him. 
Find out if he is a half-hearted Revolutionist, but 
don’t suggest the idea of escape till I tell you.” 

Egl^e did as she was bid, and watching her 
opportunity approached the guard and entered into 
conversation with him casually. He recognised her, 
and appeared surprised to see her there. 

‘‘They arrested me as an incorrigible aristocrat, 
citizen ; what an impertinence ! ” she said, “ as if a 
fille de joie like me could be an aristocrat, curse the 
dogs ! The Revolution never did me any good, I 
made more money under the old regime, citizen ; we 
all had easier times then, and I for one am not afraid 
to own it.” She was once again the girl of the 
people as she stood in front of him with her hands on 
her hips, and looked at him with a bold, free regard. 
“ Come now,” she added, with the mirth and 
license of the slums where conversation is always 
personal, “when you loafed about the Faubourg you 
had a better time than propping up these walls week 
after week ; why, you were free then. Come, own 
it like a man, citizen ! ” 

“Vive la revolution ! vive la r^publique ! ” he said 

23Z 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


sulkily, wish the Republic would cut off the heads 
of every one of you here, then I could get out and see 
what is going on in Paris. IVe never worked so hard 
in my life. When I went to the Municipality I 
didn’t think they were going to send me here. I 
wanted to go to the Army of Custine and see a bit of 
fighting. That’s life, but this moping about in a 
prison is as bad as being a prisoner. Vive la re- 
publique ! ” 

Egl^e’s appearance and manner, and the fact that 
she was one of the people, made him regard her 
differently from the rest of the prisoners, it threw him 
off his guard. Egl^e asked him innumerable questions 
of people known to both of them. And they talked 
in the argot of the Faubourg. In a day they were 
friends. 

“ The idea of me being an aristocrat or a suspect, 
citizen ! ” she said constantly as if to impress him 
with the fact of its absurdity, “ Of course Fouquier 
detains me here to keep my mouth shut, but he 
wouldn’t dare to bring me before him and try me ; it 
would cover him with ridicule. He would have done 
it already if he had dared. Couchette and I have been 
here so long now he has forgotten us.” 

Egl6e said this as a matter of course, though she 
had her own secret misgivings on the subject since 
233 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


the execution of the peasant women from Poitou. If 
she had not the “ brains,” the possession of which she 
regarded as so valuable and which to her meant any 
sort of education superior to her own, she nevertheless 
had more than her fair share of native wit and cunning. 

“Lange is afraid of the Republic,” she said in 
reporting the result of her talk with him to the Due 
d’Amboise. “ I guessed it at once 5 they are all like 
that.” 

“ Ah, discontented 1 Well, Egl^e, you must try to 
win him over. It will be easy, my girl. Under no 
consideration mention my name to him yet, and use 
all your arts, all your charms on him ; make him 
smitten ; begin at once, and when you think he is 
yours, feel him with escape. I daresay at first he will 
make difficulties, refuse point-blank ; but you must 
keep at him, coax him — you know how ; talk of a 
mysterious man who is very rich and will do anything 
for you ; prove to him the advantages of leaving the 
service of the Republic ; tempt him with an easy, lazy 
life, with no fear of the guillotine in it ; promise him 
money. He will take the bait, and when he bites 
come to me and I will tell you how to proceed. We 
must go very cautiously, and little by little. I depend 
entirely on you, EgHe, to corrupt this guard, but 
follow my instructions implicitly.” 

234 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


‘‘ Oh, M. le Due,” said Egl^e, “ if you had only 
arrived in Paris before the death of Marat, you v;rould 
have saved the queen ! I am sure of it.” 

His cleverness seemed to her of the very first order ; 
the quickness and energy with which he conceived his 
plot and put it into action astonished her, whose 
thoughts, from lack of education, worked slowly. 
Instead of the whole day spent in each other’s com- 
pany the two appeared suddenly to have fallen out, and 
the Conciergerie noticed that their meetings were 
brief and infrequent. But in them Egl6e reported 
her progress with Lange, and received her further 
instructions. 

She could scarcely realise that the Due d’Amboise 
was the same man. So intense was his earnestness, so 
crafty his counsel, that Eglde was infected with his 
spirit. The plot as conceived by him unravelled 
itself in her mind, it fascinated her like a problem 
whose solution gives one no rest. She was impressed 
with the part she played in it, its importance was to 
her a guarantee of good faith. For in the excitement 
of the effort to escape and the thought of what it 
meant love was in abeyance. There was no time 
for love, everything was secondary to the plot ; 
escape was now all in all. 

Nor did the Due d’Amboise refer again to the 

235 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


passion so suddenly aroused in him. The execution 
of his plot was his sole thought. While it was in 
embryo he regarded it as the only plot that could 
possibly avail; its success was of paramount import- 
ance. He needed all the cunning he possessed ; he 
grasped every detail ; directed every point ; and 
remained perfectly cool — that lynx-eyed coolness, 
which is suppressed excitement, of the expert gambler 
who notes every turn of the cards. 

Citizen Lange, the municipal guard, was a mere 
boy. Of a naturally lazy disposition, he regretted the 
step he had taken in seeking employment of the State ; 
a sansculotte by birth and breeding he was un- 
accustomed to any kind of discipline, he fretted under 
it and longed to escape from its restraint. His former 
freedom of speech and action that knew no license 
was now curbed by the livery of the Republic he 
wore. Of a sudden he found himself in an atmosphere 
of suspicion ; perfectly honest in his devotion to the 
Revolution, which, like most of the lowest people, he 
did not at all understand, he lived in terror of it ; in 
his utter insignificance there had been no danger in 
responding to the tocsin and following the tumbrils, 
but in the more practical function of guarding the 
enemies of the Revolution he had become responsible. 
The Revolution now wore a very different and serious 

236 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


aspect ; he knew the meaning of its terror and 
suspicion, its service was an armoury in which each 
man was provided with a two-edged sword, on the 
skilful manipulation of which life depended. There 
was no relinquishing his employment lest in the 
expressed desire there might be suspicion ; to one so 
inexperienced, so indolent, the strain of being always 
alert lest he should fall into the dangers that were all 
around him was intolerable. Unlike Jean Laforge 
he did not sigh for luxury, but for an immunity from 
terror and a release from the unspeakably dull and 
compulsory routine of his duties. He was already 
corrupted when Eglee laid siege to him, but to 
ensnare him was not so easy as it seemed. Suspicion 
had taught him to be cunning. 

The intimacy between him and Egl^e grew apace ; 
there was no suggestion of tenderness in it, in neither 
was there an arrUre pensie. It was simply the com- 
radeship of two children of the people drawn together 
by environment. Lange liked to talk to Egl6e 
because it helped to kill the dreary hours. He did 
not regard her as a prisoner, because she was utterly 
unlike all the others in detention and belonged to his 
own sphere. He understood her ; her bold, free way 
of talking reminded him of his own former habits ; it 
was the unlicensed manner of the Faubourg which 
237 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


considered itself the sovereign people. Pie liked to 
listen to her diatribes ; it was pleasant to hear some one 
else express what he secretly thought but dared not 
utter. At first he was on his guard, but in three days 
they spoke without reserve. The bond between 
them was the recollection of past associations. After a 
pleasant chat in argot with a girl of his own station, 
thoroughly acquainted with his life and habits, which 
are her own, what inexperienced youth placed like 
Lange could withstand the following attack — 

‘‘ See here, my friend, what’s the good of pretending 
to me you love this cursed Revolution which won’t 
let either of us do as we please without the threat of 
the guillotine ? You know you hate it as much as I 
do ; why, you are almost as much of a prisoner in the 
Conciergerie as I am. I know if you could manage 
it you would take off that uniform, which by the way 
doesn’t improve your beauty, my friend. Now if you 
could throw up this slave’s work and have an easy 
time of it again without any risk you would jump at 
it — say, wouldn’t you ? ” 

Eglee spoke frankly and pulled him familiarly by 
one of the buttons of his national uniform. 

“ Vive la revolution ! ” he said ; but there was 
meaning in his glance that Egl^e understood. 

“ Vive la revolution ! ” she replied aloud, and added 

238 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


in an undertone, ‘‘Citizen, isn’t it possible for us to 
escape from this prison ? ” 

It was the first time she had suggested the idea. 
The youth looked at her in positive terror ; there was 
suspicion in the mere whisper of such a thing ; he felt 
the retribution of the Republic like a sword of 
Damocles hanging by a hair over his head. 

“ Hush, girl ! ” he whispered, glancing furtively at 
the municipal guards in the court. 

“You fool!” said Eglee softly, “nobody heard. 
Think it over.” 

Thus did she sow her seed, having first prepared 
the ground to receive it. The Due d’Amboise, to 
whom she duly reported her progress, said — 

“ Good ! Now don’t go near him for a whole day. 
You have frightened him, your stopping away from 
him will frighten him still more. He will think it 
over, never fear ; he will not be able to think of 
anything else. His anxiety will be such that to rid 
himself of it he will listen to any scheme. Make a 
point of talking to another guard. Lange will notice 
it, and, knowing you as he does, will think that to 
make sure of escape you will have more than one 
string to your bow, it will give him confidence. If 
he has not taken the bait when you next approach 
him you can threaten him with informing against him 
239 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


to the other guards ; you can magnify the confidences 
you have wormed out of him. Intimidation will 
bring him quickly to terms, for I gather that he is a 
coward. When he is willing to listen to the idea of 
escape, which of course you must make clear he is to 
participate in and benefit from, come to me for 
further instructions. Only when he is fully in your 
power mention my name to him.” 

The corruption of a municipal guard on duty in the 
prison was by no means a wild dream. Throughout 
the Terror there were cases of disaffected jailers; 
their employment was the most irksome and detestable 
of all in the catalogue of the Republic ; now and then 
municipal guards were seduced from their allegiance 
by sympathy excited by the prisoners with whom in 
guarding they had become intimate, or by bribery 
guaranteeing their own personal safety. From many 
instances of this the government of the Republic was 
fully aware of the little reliance to be placed on the 
jailers, wherefore by guillotining those whom it caught 
in treachery, and instituting a system of espionage of 
one jailer on another, it intimidated the municipal 
guards in the Twelve Houses of Arrest into a 
compulsory zeal. 

After a day of pronounced neglect Eglee returned 
to Lange and at once began the conversation where 
she had previously left it off. 

240 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


“Well, citizen, have you thought of what I said 
about escape ? ” 

‘‘ You will bring me to the guillotine, girl ! ” he 
whispered, looking around him with a sly and 
frightened glance, 

“You will arrive there without my help,” she 
replied, “ if you stop here. Do you know what that 
sour-faced guard said to me yesterday ? ” and she 
indicated with her eyes the jailer she had conversed 
with throughout the previous day. “ He said it was 
suspicious for you to be as friendly with a prisoner as 
you were with me. So we had better lose no time in 
getting away.” 

Egl^e’s words frightened Lange ; the thought that 
he might already be suspected was intolerable. As the 
Due d’Amboise had opined, he had passed a day of 
intense anxiety, excited by the temptation of Egl^e’s 
words and her subsequent neglect, which he interpreted 
adversely. His position, irksome before, was now full 
of danger. The instinct of self-preservation developed 
cunning. 

“ So,” he replied, “ Citizen Boulet said it was 
suspicious for us to be seen talking together ; well, go 
away now and let me think it all over. To-morrow 
we can speak about it, but go now — go. See, Boulet 
is looking at us ! ” 


241 


R 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


His mind was in complete disorder, it contained but 
one thought — flight, flight immediate and alone. He 
was too inexperienced and unnerved to frame any plan, 
to get away as fast and as secretly as possible was his 
sole idea. A veritable net of suspicion entangled him ; 
might not Egl^e herself be dangerous ? He would not 
dare to trust her. There is no support in a reed ; it is 
better to deal with a clever villain than with a weak 
fool, as the two plotters found to their cost. 

Egl^e left Lange satisfied with her work, and 
passing the Due d’Amboise she stopped for a moment 
to say, “ All goes well.” 

That night Lange complained to the warder of the 
prison of feeling unwell, and asked to be relieved of 
his duty for a few days. The leave was granted. 
The next day, to the astonishment of Egl6e and the 
Due d’Amboise, Lange did not appear, nor on the 
following. 

“ I hope he hasn’t betrayed us,” said the aristocrat, 
“something has happened. Were you very cautious, 
Egl6e?” 

“ He would not dare to betray us,” she replied, “ he 
would be afraid of the consequences. I’ll ask Boulet 
what has become of him.” 

“ Oh,” said Boulet coolly when she questioned him, 
“ he won’t come back any more. When you try to 
242 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 

get a guard to help you escape don’t frighten him out 
of his wits, it puts you out of his mind ; for it’s easier 
for one to get away than two. He was recognised at 
the barrier of Clichy, the fool ! and taken to the 
Abbaye. He confessed everything and put the blame 
on you, and begged for mercy, but Fouquier sends 
him to the guillotine to-night. I shouldn’t be 
surprised if you followed him to-morrow.” 

Hope built so high and so confidently was at once 
dashed to the nadir. Eglee reeled as if struck and 
caught hold of the arm of the guard for support. She 
recovered herself almost instantly. 

‘‘ That’s a fine joke ! ” she said with a laugh as she 
walked away. But she knew she had betrayed herself, 
and added to the knowledge of the wrecking of the 
plot it made her very despondent. 

When a chance offered she told her story with all 
its fears to the Due d’Amboise, 

‘‘I was half afraid it was going too smoothly to 
succeed,” he said, “ plots are never good for anything 
that seem cocksure of success from the start. Lange 
was a fool, we are well rid of him ; with his craven 
heart he would have been of no use to us. Now we 
will try another plan.” He spoke cheerily to give 
Eglee courage ; from experience he knew that a 
dejected accomplice was a clog to action. 

H3 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


His fertile brain was not long in finding another 
scheme ; he was now in his element. His imper- 
turbable manner restored Eglee’s confidence as it was 
meant to do. Wildly impossible as his new idea 
seemed, she neverthelesss expressed no surprise at it ; 
futile in the conception of an intrigue herself, she had 
nothing to say ; the Due d’Amboise had brains, and 
she would trust implicitly in him. 

“Egl^e,” he said, “ Boulet is our man ; I shall talk 
to him myself ! ” 

The seemingly rash announcement did not startle 
her, but she felt a pang that she was now by the turn 
of chance entirely dependent on him ; the tables were 
turned. Oh ! for a soothing token of love in the 
midst of all this terrible excitement and anxiety ! 

Boulet, the municipal guard, was unmistakably 
a republican of the Revolution. Like all sansculottes 
vested with authority, he was surly in appearance and 
brutal in disposition. Known as the avowed enemy 
of all adversaries of the Revolution, it was rumoured 
that he had taken an active part in the September 
Massacres, and he was shunned by all the prisoners in 
the Conciergerie. Egl6e had been the first to accost 
him, the Due d’Amboise was the second. His ugly 
national uniform, embellished with two pistols stuck 
iji the belt, from which hung a short, unsheathed 
244 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


sword, added to the repulsion he inspired. That such 
a man could be corrupted seemed a labour worthy of 
Hercules. He glared sourly as the Due d’Amboise 
approached. 

“ So, citizen,” said the undaunted aristocrat plotter, 
“ you have been frightening Egl^e with the guillotine ; 
haven’t you got any bowels of mercy for one of your 
own class ? ” 

‘‘ I know my business,” the guard replied gruffly. 

‘‘ And I know mine, citizen,” said the Due 
d’Amboise coolly. “ I am going to tell it to you, 
for it has something to do with you.” 

The municipal guard shrugged his shoulders as if it 
made not the slightest difference to him, but he said 
nothing, for his curiosity was aroused. 

“ I’ll wager you’ll take an interest in it, for all your 
savage look. I know you have dipped your hands in 
aristocrat blood, and would do so again ; you like that 
sort of thing, and the Republic knows it. But the 
only reward you will ever get for the dirty work you 
have done is the free delight of seeing the Republic’s 
enemies suffer and die. You are a good watchdog, 
and you will never be anything else. Now I’ll swear 
this employment, which is so paying and so amusing, 
is the only reward the Republic will give you.” 

The Due d’Amboise uttered this insulting speech 
245 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


boldly, looking the man full in the face. A more 
delicate mode of address would have been futile. The 
straightforwardness of the attack, for which he was 
unprepared, astonished the guard. 

“I have got a proposition to make to you,” con- 
tinued the Due d’Amboise in the same tone. “ It 
doesn’t matter at all if you refuse ; you can’t do me 
more harm than threatens me already. Now listen 
attentively and look at me.” 

He added the last words imperiously, and Boulet 
instinctively recognised the tone of command. The 
guard spat on the ground as a sign of contempt ; 
nevertheless he looked at the prisoner as he was bidden. 

“ You know perfectly well who I am without my 
telling you,” said the aristocrat. “You call me the 
ci-devant Due d’Amboise, but I tell you I do not 
acknowledge your republican epithet. You needn’t 
shrug your shoulders and spit ; it is bad manners. 
You wonder what you have to do with my business ? 
Listen. I am bored with waiting for death in this 
prison ; I wish either to go to the guillotine at once 
or to be free. The latter is a wish not to be realised, 
but you can help me to the former.” 

There was a great deal of curiosity in the sullen 
regard of the municipal. With a scornful chuckle 
he said — 


246 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


“ You are right there, my pretty aristocrat ; you’ll 
go to the guillotine sure enough. A day sooner or 
later, it is all the same.” 

“ I must go at once if I am going. Such a lover 
of blood, such a partisan of the Republic as you, should 
be glad to help me on the road to the scaffold. If you 
go to Fouquier and inform him that it was I who 
corrupted Lange, he will bring me at once to trial and 
I shall not deny the charge. Now, if you wish to 
show your zeal for the Republic, here is your chance. 
You know what your reward will be ? The Com- 
mittee of Public Safety will say, ‘ Here is a true 
patriot, a most useful and valuable servant of the 
sovereign people, and like all true patriots he wants 
no pay for doing his duty. He has shown himself 
worthy of his post. Let him continue at it, a true and 
tried servant.’ What more can you desire, citizen ? ” 

The Due d’Amboise stopped short and looked at 
the municipal guard with a mocking smile. Boulet, 
who had listened to this speech with every mark of 
surprise, now glanced quickly around the prison and 
brought his eyes back to the Due d’Amboise with an 
expression of malignant fear. It was the era of pre- 
ternatural suspicion. Under the extraordinary attitude 
of the aristocrat Boulet was quick to see a motive, all 
the more dangerous for being masked. 

247 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ Dog of an aristocrat ! ” he said, but, like the Due 
d’Amboise, instinctively careful that his words should 
not be overheard. ‘‘There is no safety for a man 
while a single royalist head remains ! There should 
have been universal butchery, instead of packing the 
prisons with traitors. What new trick is this ? There 
is some underhand treachery meant to ruin me in 
what you say. What is it, you swine of an 
aristocrat ? ” 

“ Gently, citizen,” said the Due d’Amboise, 
“ remember we live in an age of equality and 
fraternity.” And he laughed lightly. 

His manner with the municipal guard was like that 
of one who breaks a vicious horse to saddle — the 
animal kicks and bucks and rears, but recognises the 
master by his coolness and skill. 

The Due d’Amboise suddenly dropped his mocking 
air, and moving closer to the guard whispered eagerly — 

“ Citizen, if you refuse to help me to die, then help 
me to live. My reward will be far better than the 
Republic’s. There is a plot in the prison, I tell you, 
and when discovered the vengeance of Fouquier will 
fall alike on the jailers and the prisoners that have not 
escaped. You know this as well as I. From the 
Republic you have everything to fear, from me 
everything to hope. Help me and the girl Egl£e to 
248 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


escape ; once out of the Conciergerie I know how to 
get us all three safely out of France. You hate 
aristocrats, be it so. But they know how to pay for 
services rendered them. Instead of a jailer treated 
like a dog by the Republic you have now an opportu- 
nity to become a person worthy of notice. I will 
show you how to make terms with the Republic so 
that you can even return to France in safety. For by 
informing the Republic of the movements of the Emigrh 
you can demand a pardon for your services, I tell you 
the road to success is easier my way than stopping 
here watching prisoners all your life. Citizen, will 
you help me ? ” 

It was a proposition more than Machiavellian, the 
consummate blending of subtlety and boldness was 
startling. The municipal guard instinctively respected 
the brain that could conceive it. For the ground-note 
of the hatred and fear of the people was the know- 
ledge that debase the aristocrats as they might they 
could not put themselves on an equality of education 
and intelligence ; no revolution, however thorough, 
could perform this in a day, it was the result of long, 
tedious years. All wanted this equality ; the Third 
Estate vibrated with the intense desire of it, which in 
revolutionary despair it knew was like sighing for the 
moon. It was the men with brains and education 


249 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


that easily went to the top. The Dantons, the 
Marats, the Robespierres, the Fouquiers reaped the 
reward that should have been everybody’s. The 
people were the oxen that pulled the plough over the 
furrowed field, the crop was reaped by the drivers. 
The brutalised municipal guard knew his inferiority, 
it was like the shackle of a slave ; he wanted some of 
the great gains of the people, he had worked hard for 
them, doing all the dirty and dangerous work of the 
Revolution. He hated the aristocrats and all enemies 
of the new order, he would willingly kill or drive them 
all out of France, but he wished a share of the spoils 
that remained. It was not enough to be given a 
jailership of prisons and forgotten, to be called citizen 
and looked on with suspicion. At a bound he was 
shown how he might acquire the importance he craved, 
a little treachery was all that was necessary. It was 
a diabolical temptation, such as only an aristocrat 
could devise, but it was the road to his desire, a 
short, straight cut. The outrageous sophistry of the 
aristocrat appealed to him ; it was an intelligence he 
could understand, there was no finesse in it, it was a 
perfectly plain and feasible piece of clever villainy — to 
betray the Republic to command its recognition, to 
use an aristocrat to betray artistocrats ! 

That he listened without interruption to the Due 
250 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


d’Amboise and did not angrily reject his proposal and 
rush olF breathing fire to denounce him to the 
Revolutionary Tribunal, told the aristocrat that his 
words had struck home. The Due d’Amboise was, 
when he cared, as much of a student of human nature 
as the Comte de Beugnot, one more practical. He 
knew human nature and tried it with the usual crude 
test — bribery ; the Comte de Beugnot, for all his 
philosophy and accomplishments, studied it micro- 
scopically, experimenting on it with scientific acumen. 
The one could have written an exhaustive treatise on 
the subject, proving his theories in detail ; the other 
could by no means have done so. If he had a less 
intellectual grip, practical experience had given him a 
quicker and surer one. It was much the same as an 
old weather-beaten salt, without any knowledge of 
charts and the altitude of the sun, successfully 
navigating his craft by winds and currents where a 
landsman expert in the theory of navigation would be 
wrecked. Such was the Due d’Amboise, whose weak 
and frivolous character was not worth the consideration 
of the astute Philosphe. Those we despise as fools 
are not necessarily fools. The case is a common one, 
and the fact does not seem to teach. 

“ I shall return for your answer shortly, citizen,” 
added the Due d’Amboise in a whisper, I will not 
251 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


court suspicion by being seen talking to you too long 
and too earnestly. Remember, the girl is to go with 
us.” 

He walked toward a group that had been observing 
him, saying as he approached — 

“ I have just been talking to that Cerberus yonder ; 
he did us all the honour of calling us swine.” 

Boulet did not weigh the pros and cons of the 
situation, he made up his mind at once to accept the 
proposal. He was no chicken-hearted youth like 
Lange, but a man who in a rough practical way 
understood the truth of the saying “ Nothing 
venture, nothing have.” In his eyes it was a business 
transaction in which he had been offered goods of 
inestimable value to himself at a very cheap rate. 
He did not hesitate, he had too much common sense. 
It was like a man telling a rough who has waylaid 
him and means to plunder him without compunction, 
“I know where a treasure is to be found that will 
make us both rich. If you kill me I shall die with 
my secret and you will only get my watch, but if you 
let me live I will share the treasure with you.” 

“ Have you made up your mind ? ” whispered the 
Due d’Amboise some time later. 

“Yes,” replied Boulet, gruffly. 

“ When will you act ? ” asked the aristocrat 
252 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


imperturbably. He felt like huzzaing, the corruption 
of such a man was a master-stroke ; no one would have 
dreamt of such a plan j it proved he had not lost his 
cunning. 

“To-night, when the prisoners go to their grilles, 
do you and the girl stop in the court near the big 
door. I am on duty alone and will see that the bolts 
are not fastened. After midnight I will open the door 
softly, just wide enough for you to pass out. All the 
guards will be on their mattresses in the guard-room. 
I will go in for a jug of water and shut the door 
behind me ; you and the girl can then slip out in the 
dark into the street ; go quickly into the first alley on 
the left — there are no lights in it, and it leads directly 
to the Seine. I will join you in it later, and we will 
go to the house of one of your friends and hide for a 
few days. After that you must get us out of Paris.” 

“ I have no one I will trust in Paris,” replied the 
Due d’Amboise, “we must get out of the city 
to-night.” 

“You are a fine aristocrat not to have any friends ; 
I suppose you think I will inform against them when 
I make my terms with the Republic ? ” 

“ No, believe me, I will trust no friend ; besides, if 
they should happen to be under suspicion they would 
inform against us to clear themselves.” 

253 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


‘‘Well, then, I won’t undertake the job. I won’t 
run the risk of losing my head by trying to creep 
through the barriers like Lange,” said Boulet gruffly. 

“ Isn’t there a boat we could get on the Seine and 
so pass the barriers by the river ? ” 

“ Yes, there is sure to be a boat alongside the grain 
barges at the Pont Neuf, but there is always a guard 
on duty there.” 

“Then,” said the Due d’Amboise, “he must be 
killed. You will first hail him, tell him prisoners 
have escaped from the Conciergerie, engage him in 
conversation, and dirk him quietly.” 

“You don’t mind a bit of villainy, do you?” 
whispered Boulet. The plot was assuming a character 
he had not thought of, but he had gone too far now 
to retreat. 

“ Certainly not. I mean to sell my life dearly ; and 
you, my friend, surely have no scruples about spilling 
blood, though in this case it will be somewhat coarser 
than you are accustomed to.” 

Boulet did not retort ; the Due d’Amboise now 
held the whip-hand and he intended the man should 
feel it. He quickly formed his plan and unfolded it 
to Boulet in a manner that showed he intended to be 


THE PLOT IN THE PRISON 


will take the boat and drift down the river. We will 
then disembark in the fields near Neuilly and go to a 
house I know of in the country. It belongs to the 
prince of conspirators, the Baron de Batz. It is a 
den of conspiracy ; they are on the look out all day 
and all night. I know de Batz well ; it is a safe 
place, and we can get away from there easily enough. 
You see the thing is simple. Now I leave you, Egl^e 
and I will be at the door when you open it.” 

Boulet glared at him surlily as he walked away. 
He felt himself tricked ; this aristocrat, with his soft 
ways, was a clever and formidable villain, and Boulet 
was afraid of him. 

When Egl4e was informed of the success of the 
Due d’Amboise she could with difficulty contain her 
delight. 

“ Ah, M. le Due,” she said, I knew you had the 
brains if you would only use them.” 

‘‘ They are yours, Egl^e,” he replied, “ they work 
at your command.” 

She looked at him earnestly. 

“ M. le Due, you make me almost forget what I 
am. 

Eglee,” he said seriously, “ our lives begin here in 
the Conciergerie, where all are equal ; let us think 
no more of the past.” 

25s 


CHAPTER X 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 

HE rest of that day was passed by both in 



A agitation. Could they depend on Boulet ? 
Might not chance have reserved this day of all others 
to summon one of them before the Revolutionary 
Tribunal ? Would night never come ? 

It was now November, and the Conciergerie had 
lost all the gaiety and brilliancy it possessed when 
Egl6e entered it. Most of the aristocrats had been 
executed and their places were filled by a bourgeois 
crowd who moved about the cold and dreary court in 
sullen gloom. As the hour drew near for the daily 
batch to go to the guillotine the suspense and melan- 
choly of the prison became acute. The spirits of the 
Due d’Amboise flagged ; the tremendous strain of 
the past few days began to tell on his nerve ; 
the splendid coolness he had displayed, and which 


256 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 


was so necessary to him now, was shaken with dread. 
Realising the danger of losing his self-control, he went 
to the men’s ^nV/? and threw himself on his mattress 
to try to sleep, in order to be fresh for the daring of 
the coming night. Egl6e placed a stool near the 
door whose exit was the guillotine and sat with her 
back against the wall, waiting, waiting. 

Darkness fell early in the winter afternoon ; the dim 
lamps were lit and their cheerless flicker suggested 
night, but night was still hours off. In the midst of 
her terrible suspense the great door was opened, there 
was a strident shout of many numbers, and Fouquier’s 
fournk tramped solemnly out of the court. It was 
the hour of the setting of the sun when the tumbrils 
went to the guillotine ; Eglde knew the work of the 
Revolutionary Tribunal was over for the day. It 
meant safety ; suspense gave place to excitement. The 
night had commenced. By degrees the prisoners 
dribbled out of the draughty court to their mattresses ; 
the darkness of the cells invited sleep, which was to 
them forgetfulness. Their disappearance seemed to 
Egl^e to bring the hour of escape nearer. Suddenly 
there was a disturbance without, the muffled echo of 
It penetrated the stone walls ; then the chains and bolts 
of the great door were drawn and through the open 
doorway came a posse of men with something 
257 s 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


struggling in their midst. A terrible panic invaded 
Egl^e, robbing her mind of all thought. Some great 
and unexpected danger had arrived, the plot was ruined ! 
Suspense became positive pain, hope disappeared. The 
court refilled immediately with prisoners frightened 
from their cells. The men who had thus disturbed 
the quiet of the prison rid themselves roughly of their 
burden and departed with much noise. The thing 
they had brought into the Conciergerie writhed on the 
pavement, and curiosity collected a crowd round it. 
Her spasm of wild terror had passed with the with- 
drawal of the men and Egl^e joined the crowd. What 
she looked upon was grotesque in the extreme. The 
thing on the pavement hiccoughed and staggered 
to its feet. It was a man, decidedly drunk and dressed 
in carmagnole complete. But in spite of his wretched 
and sanscullotic appearance there was something about 
him which betrayed the aristocrat. 

The Comte de Beugnot recognised him at once, and 
spoke to him. 

“ I know you, you are the Marquis de Ch^telet. 
What are you doing in this disguise ? What has 
happened ? ” 

“ I am innocent — innocent ! ” screamed the man. “I 
took the oath to the Republic. I have not broken it.” 

The Comte de Beugnot moved away in disgust, 
258 


THE LOTTERY OF SATNTE GUILLOTINE 

The condition of this apostate aristocrat disgusted 
him. 

The curiosity of the crowd was satisfied, it fell 
away from the Marquis de Chdtelet with cold 
contempt. He staggered about the court asserting 
his patriotism with a hiccoughing scream, and finally 
reeled forward on his face upon the pavement. He 
tried to rise again, but the fall had stunned him, and 
he was too drunk to stand. After many ineffectual 
attempts he gave up the effort and fell into a heavy, 
drunken sleep. The prisoners withdrew to their 
mattresses again, and Egl^e, nervous and excited, went 
back to her stool by the door. The night seemed to 
her far advanced. Why did the Due d’Amboise not 
come ? How could they escape with that drunken 
brute sprawled there in the centre of the court ? 
Might he not awake at any moment and disturb the 
whole prison again ? The night was cold, but the 
sweat stood in beads on Egl^e’s brow, and her hands 
were clammy. 

And now once again the great door opened noisily, 
waking the entire prison. Egl^e, mute with despair, 
sat rooted to her stool. Escape seemed impossible on 
such a night and she felt a premonition of failure. 

This time it was only a very old woman led in between 
two municipal guards, who at once withdrew. The 
259 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


old woman shook like one with a palsy, and the stick 
she carried tapped the pavement with the vibration of 
her trembling. She looked around her stupidly and 
muttered in a quavering voice something about the 
lever of Madame de Pompadour. Some of the 
prisoners addressed her, but she did not answer. 
Egl^e heard a voice say — 

“ She is very, very old, and frightened ; most likely 
they have dragged her from her bed. Poor thing ! 
what can she have done to arouse the suspicion of 
the Republic ? ” 

Another voice replied, and Eglde recognised it as 
that of the Comte de Beugnot. 

‘‘ My friends, I know this old lady. She is Madame 
la Mardchale de Mouchy, a suspect by her name. But 
she is harmless, and as deaf as destiny ; her mind, like 
her body, is weak with the weight of over fourscore 
years. To arrest her is a brutal joke of Fouquier’s.” 

At any other time Egl^e’s pity would have been 
excited ; she would have taken the old lady under her 
protection and in her bold way have poured all the 
invectives of the Faubourg on the Republic. Now 
she sat passive on her stool, while some one compassion- 
ately led the tottering prisoner away to the women’s 
grille. The incident broke the repose of the prison, 
and people discussed it excitedly without any thought 
260 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 


of sleep. They denounced the tyranny of the 
Republic, forgetful that they were the children of the 
Revolution, which, like Saturn, was now devouring 
them ; they spoke of the arrest of the Mar^chale de 
Mouchy as an atrocity, though many of them a few 
months before had counselled the annihilation of all 
aristocrats ; they furiously declared that Liberty and 
Justice were impossible while France was ruled by 
men dripping with the gore of innocent people, yet 
they themselves had loudly called for a bath of blood 
in which to cleanse the nation. It seemed to Eglee 
as if their voices would never cease and leaden-eyed 
slumber fall on the prison; and long after they had 
gone to their mattresses an indignant murmur came 
from the grilles. 

She still continued to sit on her stool by the door, 
but hope had now completely departed from her. The 
restlessness and constant alarm of the night unnerved 
her. She had lost all idea of the time ; such a night 
she had never known. Strong as she was, she felt that 
this long and terrible strain was more than even her 
strength could stand. At last the prison was absolutely 
still ; not a sound came from the grilles^ but the sight 
of the drunken aristocrat in the empty court tormented 
her with all sorts of fears. His heavy breathing 
fascinated her so that she could not take her eyes oft 
261 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


him and she did not perceive the Due d’Amboise till 
he was beside her. 

Egl^e,” he whispered, “ at last ! ” 

She looked up at him with a start and with difficulty- 
kept a cry from bursting from her lips. He dropped 
on his haunches with his back to the hinges of the 
great door. His presence reassured her ; she felt an 
inexpressible sense of relief and her eyes filled with 
tears. They were alone, quite alone, for the first time 
in their acquaintance. The passion which the Comte 
de Beugnot had suggested was awake in him ; reaching 
up he put an arm round the girl’s neck and drew her 
head down to his. His breath was like a powerful 
opiate enveloping her in ecstasy ; she felt his lips 
against hers, and in the stillness could hear the beating 
of his heart, to which her own was the echo. It was 
like the visitation of a god. 

The clack of a sabot on the pavement of the court 
interrupted the embrace. With a sense of annoyance 
they remembered the plot. The Due d’Amboise 
crouched at Egl6e’s side and tried to hide himself with 
her skirt. It was most essential that the intruder 
should not observe him ; the discovery of two prisoners 
at such an hour alone in the court by the door would 
be full of suspicion. They both felt they were lost. 
Suddenly Eglee gave a great sigh of relief, and drew her 
262 


THE LOTTERY OF SATNTE GUILLOTINE 


lover’s hand, which she still held, tenderly to her lips. 
She recognised Couchette. The girl advanced, but 
when quite close started back in affright at the 
glimpse of a figure half-hidden by Egl^e’s side. Egl^e 
beckoned to Couchette to approach. Reassured, she 
came forward again, and her sabots clacked loudly in 
the silent court. 

“ What do you want ? ” asked Egl6e, in a fierce, 
angry whisper, “ Don’t you see I am engaged ? ” 

Couchette now recognised the Due d’Amboise ; 
she was too surprised to utter a word and was with- 
drawing somewhat confusedly when Eglee stopped 
her. 

“ Pst ! Couchette ! ” she whispered. 

The girl turned round and Egl6e beckoned her 
back again. 

“ Take off your shoes, you fool ; you will wake the 
whole prison ! ” 

Couchette obeyed. She had awaked and missing 
Egl^e had, full of alarm, come in search of her. She 
had no suspicion that the companion on whom her 
existence depended was about to desert her. The 
Due d’Amboise, who believed the plot was wrecked, 
was so relieved ' to find the intruder was only 
Couchette that he took one of the girl’s hands in his 
and kiss.“d it. But the innocent act excited Egl^e’s 
263 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


immoderate jealousy ; smiting Couchette’s hand away 
she whispered fiercely — 

« Go ! ” 

Couchette, reassured by finding EgHe, went back 
to her grille swiftly and noiselessly, carrying her sabots 
in her hand. They watched her as she went, full of 
anxiety lest she might disturb the slumber of the 
prisoners, and after she had disappeared they gazed 
breathlessly in the direction of the grilles as if at any 
moment they expected some one to enter the court. 
But deep stillness reigned, in which the stertorous 
breathing of the drunken sleep of the Marquis de 
Chatelet sounded ominously loud. 

The great door of the Conciergerie opened without 
their hearing it. A “ Pst ! ” startled them, and glancing 
round they saw Boulet’s head peering at them. They 
rose at once, and Eglee’s skirt knocked over the stool 
she had been sitting on. The noise seemed terribly 
loud, the drunken Marquis de Chatelet moved uneasily 
in his sleep as if he were about to awake. The three 
trembled ; they dared not stir, they feared lest the 
slightest movement should wake somebody. One of 
the lamps had burnt itself out, and the court was 
almost in darkness, but the faint glimmer of the 
remaining lamp was to their excited minds like a 
blaze of light in which their every movement was 
being observed. 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 

The Due d’Amboise was the first to recover 
himself j he slid through the narrow opening of the 
door, and was instantly followed by Egl^e. Boulet 
closed the door very softly, leaving it unbolted, and 
for a second the three stood in the darkness, listening for 
a shout of alarm that did not come. At the end of 
the corridor in which they stood palpitating there was 
a ray of light like a wedge ; it came from the open 
door of the guard-room. Inside a half-dozen men in 
the national uniform were stretched asleep on mat- 
tresses. Boulet went in quietly and closed the door 
behind him. Then as soon as the wedge of light 
disappeared the Due d’Amboise and Eglee traversed 
the corridor as if they wore shoes of felt and passed out 
into the street, which was deserted at that late hour. 
Following Boulet’s instructions with exactness, they 
turned into the alley he had indicated and waited for 
him. He was not long coming, but when he arrived 
he was trembling. The step he had taken could not 
be retraced j he realised its tremendous gravity. But 
to the two so long incarcerated freedom was a fait 
accompli. They stretched their limbs rapturously, like 
those released from chains, and opened their mouths to 
drink in the raw night air. 

The alley led quickly to the Pont Neuf ; it was very 
dark and they passed nobody on their way to the river. 
265 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Leaning over the parapet of the bridge they saw the 
grain barges below, and on one of them the shadowy 
figure of an armed man paced up and down on guard. 
A cold, bleak wind was blowing down the Seine ; it 
cut the poorly-clad Egl^e to the bone. They left the 
bridge and took shelter against one of the great stone 
culverts on the quay. 

“Go at once and hail the sentry as I told you,” 
said the Due d’Amboise to Boulet, “ ask him if he 
has seen any suspicious persons lurking about, and 
watch your opportunity to kill him with your sword. 
Be sure you do it quietly.” 

But Boulet the surly, brutal guard was quite 
another man from Boulet the traitor seeking to 
escape. His courage had all gone to water, he had 
not the cool nerve requisite to do the deed. 

The Due d’Amboise uttered an oath. 

“ Give me your sword,” he said, “ and change 
clothes with me. I will do it ! ” 

Boulet did not hesitate, and then and there in the 
biting wind the two men exchanged their clothing, 
while Eglde leaned against the culvert, shivering and 
fascinated with horror. Though they were the same 
height, Boulet was much older and more thick-set 
than the slender, graceful aristocrat. The exchange 
was grotesque in the extreme, but none of the three 
saw any humour in it. 


266 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 


“ Keep in the shadow here till I come back,” said 
the Due d’ Amboise, “ and don’t stir.” 

He disappeared. With beating hearts they heard 
the sentry hail him and his voice in reply. They 
waited in silence in the shadow thrown by the culvert, 
expecting a shriek, a signal of alarm, a culmination of 
horrors. After what seemed an endless time there 
was a splash in the water, and they saw the Due 
d’Amboise coming back. He had not been gone two 
minutes. In the uniform of the municipal guard he 
looked more forbidding than Boulet himself ; the 
blade of the sword was dripping with fresh blood, his 
hands were covered with it, 

“ It was clumsily done,” he said in a tone of great 
disgust, ‘‘and perfectly useless. There is no boat 
there, Boulet, you liar, not a sign of one ! ” 

“ What shall we do ? ” asked Boulet helplessly. 
“Do?” said the Due d’Amboise imperiously. 
“ First of all, let me get back into my own clothes. 
I don’t wish these bloody things on me.^ Come, 
change ! ” 

Like all bullies, Boulet when danger threatened 
was cowed. He never thought of taking offence at 
the Due d’Amboise, whose manner to him was as 
rough and brutal as his own ; the terror of his situation 
precluded all other thoughts ; in the aristocrat he saw 
267 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


his only chance of safety. Egl^e too was terrified, 
unnerved by the tense strain. The Due d’Amboise 
alone had presence of mind. When once more clad 
in his own clothes he said — 

“ Now, we have no time to lose, we must find a 
place to hide in ; there is no chance of escaping from 
the city by the river to-night. That fellow down there 
thought I was a friend ; well, there is one revolutionist 
the less to prey on aristocrats. Bah ! ” And he 
shook himself like a dog coming out of water. 

“We are lost ! ” muttered Boulet, “ we are lost ! ” 

“We shall be if you whine like that,” said the 
Due d’Amboise. “Follow me, and ask no ques- 
tions.” 

His boldness and intrepidity inspired confidence. 
From past experience he knew the danger of being 
hampered with timorous people. They crossed the 
Pont Neuf and walked rapidly and silently through 
deserted streets, till they reached the Rue de Lille. 
It suddenly dawned upon Boulet that the Due 
d’Amboise was going to take refuge in his own 
house in this street. 

“ M. le Due,” he said in alarm, “ don’t go to the 
Hotel d’Amboise, it is dangerous ; when you are 
missed to-morrow that is the first place they will 
search ! ” 


268 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 


“ The last you mean ; and besides, I know its 
capabilities as a hiding-place.” 

Boulet said nothing further, it was his only sugges- 
tion, and was treated with ridicule ; he felt unequal to 
play the game of this bold, clever young aristocrat ; it 
required nerve, and he possessed none. 

The Republican motto and the words, “ National 
Property,” stamped on the ashlar wall of his hotel 
made the Due d’Amboise flush with anger. The 
great iron gates of the sculptured portal were locked ; 
through the railing the court-yard looked dilapidated 
and gloomy in the bleak winter night. The door of 
the porter’s lodge at which Jean Laforge had waited 
for Eglee five years before was likewise fastened ; 
there were no other means of ingress. The Due 
d’Amboise put his shoulder against the door, but 
it did not yield. 

“ Come,” he said, we must press against it together 
with all our might.” 

They rushed at it like a battering-ram and tore the 
lock from its staple. The Due d’Amboise rubbed his 
shoulders and walked in, followed by Egl^e. The 
room was filled with a darkness that could be felt ; 
suddenly Boulet, who had remained in the empty 
street, peering suspiciously up and down, rushed in 
crying — 


269 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


“ The patrol is coming ! He must have heard as 
we burst in the door 1 ” 

“Nonsense/’ came the voice of the Due d’Amboise 
from the impenetrable depths of the room, “ if he 
crosses the threshold, I will kill him. Give me your 
sword.” 

They stood in breathless suspense, unable to see one 
another, watching the doorway through which the 
lesser darkness of the night was visible. The patrol 
passed by ; they could hear his steps echoing in the 
direction of the Rue du Bac. 

“He did not notice the door,” said the Due 
d’Amboise, “ it will give them a clue to-morrow. But 
it makes no difference, we will climb the wall and 
drop into the garden of the deserted Hotel de Choiseul, 
where we will hide till to-morrow night, when we can 
make another try for the river. How the devil do we 
get out of this room ? ” 

While they all groped for a door which they could 
not find they heard the tramp of feet again. 

“ The patrol suspected,” said Boulet, “ he is bring- 
ing a squad from the guard-house in the Rue du Bac.” 

“For God’s sake, where is the door ? This room 
is a cul de sac ! ” cried the aristocrat. 

The tramp of feet stopped and lanterns were flashed 
into the room. 


270 


THE LOTTERY OF SAINTE GUILLOTINE 


Surrender yourselves in the name of the Republic ! ” 
said a voice. 

Resistance was absolutely useless, the plot was a 
failure. The Due d’Amboise looked quickly round 
the half-lit room to find the exit the lack of which 
had been their ruin. The door they sought was open, 
it seemed impossible that they could have missed it. 
The three gave themselves up quietly. • Boulet and 
Egl^e were stupid with fear — Boulet for himself ; 
Eglee at the sudden dashing of all her hopes, at the 
certain end to her dream of happiness. 

Citizens,” cried a man, “ there has been treachery 
to-night at the Conciergerie. I recognise this man as 
the ci-devant Due d'Amboise in the time when there 
were titles ; he has escaped from the Conciergerie, 
where he has been imprisoned since the death of 
Marat. And I know the woman, she was arrested for 
exciting a riot in the Place de la Revolution. Citizens, 
we have made a big haul ! ” 

The Due d’Amboise answered cheerily — 

“ Well, we made a bold try for escape, and we have 
failed, it is the fortune of the game. Come, lead us 
back ; you have three more heads for the guillotine ! ” 
They were marched oflP, not together, but apart, 
roughly and strongly guarded. At the Conciergerie 
the sleeping sentinels were awakened \ they jumped up 
271 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


in horror at the news and the sight of the unbolted 
door of the court. With atrocious insults the three 
were shoved in ; then the alarm was sounded and the 
whole prison awakened from its slumber, gathered 
a-tremble in the court of the Conciergerie while the 
roll-call was read. 


* 7 * 


CHAPTER XI 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 

HEN the municipal guards had finished call- 



ing the list and withdrawn the court of the 


Conciergerie became vocal. All that the tongue con- 
tains in caustic satire and gross abuse was poured out 
as from a vial of spiteful poisons. The wretched three 
were reviled and taunted with treachery to their 
fellow-sulFerers. Royalists and republicans united in 
twitting, teasing, goading, insulting ; and as if it were 
a loop-hole through which he might escape, Boulet, 
too, raised his voice in denunciation, and added his 
coward's whine to the noisy jargon of reproach and 
mockery, which just stopped short of personal violence. 
At last it became unbearable from its maddening 
monotony, and the Due d’Amboise cried out angrily 
in a voice that was loud and imperious — 

“ Have done, I say ! We only did what was 


273 


T 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


natural ; there is not one of you canaille but would 
betray the whole prison to escape. Miserable, cowardly 
curs, I will take care to acquit you all to Fouquier of 
any complicity in my ill-starred effort to be free ! 
Have done, then ! 

Whether his words would have stopped the irritating 
buzz of abuse Eglee did not give a chance to prove. 
With one arm on her hip, and brandishing the other 
in front of her, she shouted, after the manner of the 
women in the Faubourg when preparing for a fight — 
“ Silence ! Canaille ! or I will choke the whine out 
of your throats with these hands ! You cowards, the 
guillotine is the fate you all deserve ! ” 

It had the required effect ; she looked so ready to 
put her threat into execution that a space was cleared 
around her and the Due d’Amboise, and Boulet 
relapsed into his sullen fear. But peace did not come 
to the excited prison, and the prisoners moved to and 
fro in the half-lit, gloomy court, which had become 
like a cage of angry magpies. 

“ They are not worth losing one’s temper over. 
Egl^e,” said the Due d’Amboise. They have 
reason to be enraged ; we have added to the danger 
they are in. Fouquier will make more than our 
lives pay for this night’s work.” 

Eglee made no reply, she was not in the mood for 
^ 7 + 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


talking. The failure of the plot, the sudden headlong 
fall from the giddy height of expectation to which she 
had risen, smote her like a blow from a clenched fist. 
She was dazed, her mind was capable of holding but 
one thought which revolved itself eternally — her life 
was drawing to a close, and she wanted to live. 
Never before had she realised how healthy and strong 
she was, never before had she realised the boundless 
possibilities of happiness. She was conscious of a dull 
pain, not to be described, not to be located. 

The Due d’Amboise stretched himself idly on the 
pavement of the court. He was quite composed ; he 
no longer felt the earnestness, the manliness which 
Eglee’s personality had awakened in him. As far as 
he was concerned the world was nearly at an end, 
and nothing was ot any use whatsoever. To wring 
one’s hands or to prepare oneself stoically for death, or 
to dash away the dark remnant of life in a drunken- 
ness of passion, would be ridiculous ; contemptuous 
indifference was the sole attitude for such a situation 
as the present. The thought of his late display of 
energy angered him, he wondered that he had been 
foolish enough to attempt to bargain with Fate. And 
his sudden hot passion for Eglee ? The taste of love 
at such a time was sour to him. Love ? It was 
merely a spark thrown out by a consuming log that 

275 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


was extinguished as it flared up. And the Due 
d’Amboise yawned, and turning himself over on his 
side tried to sleep. 

A sound of weeping entered his dreams and troubled 
them. He awoke. The grey light of a winter dawn 
filled the prison, the prisoners were still walking to 
and fro anxiously. He sat up, feeling cold and stiff. 
He remembered that it was the last day of his life. 
The sound of weeping continued, mingled with a soft, 
soothing voice. The Due d’Amboise knew the 
voice, its effect on him was like a reproach that one 
knows one deserves. He turned his head and saw 
Couchette, like a frightened child, holding EgHe’s 
tattered skirt in her hand as if the touch was in itself 
protection. He mechanically put out his hand and 
touched the skirt too, then the idea struck him as 
ludicrous bathos, and he laughed a short, discordant 
laugh. The thought of the past, before he bade 
farewell to Versailles and fled over the marches with 
the Princes of the Blood in order to affront France, 
was a grotesque contrast to the present with its amour 
with a fille de joie of the lowest people and a shameful 
public death on the guillotine. 

Egl^e looked at the man at her feet and seemed to 
divine his misery. She felt he needed her; all her 
strength and masterfulness came back to her. Death 
276 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


lost its terror for her, it was enough for her to know 
he was to be her companion at the scaffold. She no 
longer regarded him as her lover, but something far 
more noble, even holy ; and the solemnity of the 
situation seemed to her to have purified her. To be 
the companion in death of the man she loved made 
her his equal as nothing else could. 

But the glamour of Versailles and Trianon could 
not demagnetise Eglee’s personality. In spite of 
himself the Due d’Amboise was glad that Eglee loved 
him, he liked to feel that she was near him ; there 
was something about her that did him good. Could 
it be possible that he loved this girl after all ? What- 
ever this strange emotion bred from the propinquity 
of the prison, no man or woman ever had such an 
influence on him as this girl of the people. He rose 
to his feet and stood beside the two girls ; no words 
passed between any of them, but the silence, broken 
now and then by a sob from Couchette, had a meaning 
that words could not express. And thus the three 
waited. 

At eight o’clock the door of the Conciergerie was 
opened, and a squad of municipal guards entered 
armed with pistols and drawn swords. One of them 
carried in his hand the fatal list riddled with the pricks 
of Fouquier’s pin. In a loud, staccato voice he read 

277 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


the names of those summoned to trial, and a terrible 
hush fell on the crowded court — the hush of exquisite 
fear. It was to all the supreme moment of fate, the 
materialisation of the frightful Biblical prophecy of 
the meeting of Man with God. One by one as their 
names were called the prisoners stepped out from the 
throng and passed under the control of the armed 
guard. No word, no cry, was uttered ; the whole 
scene was like the work of an automaton that has 
been wound up. 

When Eglee’s turn came Couchette followed, still 
holding the skirt of her friend in her hand. A guard 
smote her back brutally, but the clutch with which 
her fingers held Eglee’s skirt did not relax, and a shred 
of it was in her hand as she fell back. Egl6e turned 
a moment and said kindly — 

“ Courage, Couchette, girl ! ” 

But the words fell on ears that did not hear. As 
if her legs had been mowed off. Couchette sank to 
the pavement in a swoon. Too mean for Fouquier 
to notice, for history to remember, one cannot find a 
record of her fate. Did Napoleon’s “ whiff of grape- 
shot ” that exploded the Revolution give her freedom ? 
Was she one of the inmates of the madhouse of 
Bicetre whom the Terror made imbecile ? Or did 
she, too, drive in the tumbrils and meet Samson fac§ 
face? Who shall tell ? 


278 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 

It was a motley crowd that assembled at the 
Revolutionary Tribunal, men and women of all 
classes of society. The fournh was enormous. 
There was not room for all to sit, and many stood 
in a stifled, speechless group, squeezed together and 
closely surrounded by municipal guards. Opposite 
the prisoners, like caged beasts at feeding-time, were 
the Vengeurs of the revolution, the men and women 
who did the dirty work of the Republic. The 
decree excluding the women of Paris from being 
present at the trials was not yet in force, and free 
access to the Revolutionary Tribunal was one of the 
most cherished prerogatives of the people who came 
here daily to whet their cannibalistic appetite, just as 
later they slaked their thirst for blood at the guillotine. 
A tricolor ribbon kept them from swarming over the 
court, and ineffectual as this barrier seemed it was 
respected as the symbol of the Republic One and 
Indivisible of the people in divine right of insurrec- 
tion. Behind it the mob raged, and as the spirit 
moved it swayed the scales or equity, but to burst the 
slender barrier it never attempted. Fouquier from 
experience had learned how to manage it. Like a 
lion-tamer in a den of lions, he held sway in the 
Revolutionary Tribunal, and the mob answered to his 
adroit flattery and was in turn coaxed and cowed. 

279 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


This man was the Torquemada of the Revolution ; 
to him love of power was a passion only in so far as it 
gratified his love of cruelty. Perfectly passionless him- 
self, he made use of the passions of the people to 
accomplish his ends. It was he who made terror 
terrible, and in his hand the Law of the Suspect was 
a weapon more fell than the club of Hercules. The 
bath of blood that mad Marat called for he provided ; 
the vial of insults that the foul Pere Duchene filled 
he poured out. The blade of the guillotine was not 
sharper than his thin lips and acid voice ; steel was not 
colder and harder than his small, unflinching eyes ; 
hunger was not more ravenous than his lean, wolfish 
face. And his mirth — for there was mirth in him — was 
the glee of a cat at play with a mouse. If the laws of 
the Republic were just, he interpreted the justice as 
retribution. Cruelty with him was not fanaticism, 
but a pastime which he had perfected into a fine art. 
To-day he was in the humour for a holocaust. Plots 
in the prison were to him as the Christians to Nero — 
an excuse for the gratification of a passion for cruelty 
that was curbed by nothing save his own barbaric will. 
The Revolutionary Tribunal was his amphitheatre, 
the prisoners were his victims, and the populace his 
lions ; the slaughter was the word uttered by his 
thin, decisive voice. The very spirit of antiquity was 
280 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


at hand ; there lacked nothing of the Roman game 
but its pomp and splendour. 

He reviewed the fournh before him with a glance 
as merciless as the lunge of a bayonet, and picking up 
his list cried out the first name that struck his fancy. 
It was that of Madame la Mar^chale de Mouchy, a 
traveller to the Styx who had lost her way and arrived 
there now belated. Leaning on her stick and shaking 
with palsy, the stone-deaf, doting octogenarian was 
supported to the bar between two municipal guards. 
Neither Fouquier nor his lions saw anything tragically 
pathetic or absurdly repellant in such a sight. Her 
name called up the memory of her husband who fifty 
years before had at the command of the Pompadour 
led Louis puinze’s armies into Germany to carve out 
a province beyond the Rhine for his master — an 
ambition that had ended in the carnage of Frenchmen 
and the humiliation of France. The arm of revenge 
had been shackled then, but now it was free, and it 
reached forth and caught what remained of that 
remote era of disgrace in its clutch. In the harvest 
of Time the life of Madame de Mouchy had not 
been reaped ; she had lasted like a withered stall: 
ill a stubble field. 

Fouquier asked her her name, which was answered 
for her in a shriek of rage by the mob of sansculottes 
281 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


and poissardes. He then charged her with conspiracy, 
but Madame de Mouchy did not hear, nor if she had 
heard would she have understood the sense of the 
words. It was explained to Fouquier that she was 
deaf and stupid, and stretching his thin lips over his 
teeth he said with what he meant for mirth — 

“ Put it that she conspired stupidly,” and forthwith 
condemned her to death, 

Madame de Mouchy was led away, happily for her 
in nowise realising her position, and her place at the 
bar was taken by another lady of the loftiest rank, the 
Duchesse de Biron, widow of the famous Heron Plume 
Due de Biron. In spite of the fact that her husband, 
who had turned republican and become General in the 
Revolutionary Army, had been executed as a traitor, 
the Duchesse de Biron was not even a suspect and 
had been arrested by mistake. Fouquier indicted her 
with the charge against her steward, in place of whom 
she had been apprehended, 

“ But I am not the person you mean,” she said. 

‘‘ No matter,” replied Fouquier, ‘‘you ought to be.” 
And she too was sent to the guillotine. 

Then followed the unfortunate Bailly, first Mayor 
of Paris, and once chief idol of the people, now 
broken here, accused of every crime political in the 
Republican Calendar, and doomed. At this very bar 
282 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


less than a month ago he had been a witness at the 
trial of Marie Antoinette. When asked if he knew 
her he had said simply, with a Court bow in her 
direction, “Yes, I know Madame”; while the 
Comte d’Estaing, a whilom favourite at Versailles, 
was also summoned to give evidence, which he 
did cowardly, insulting the fallen queen. But his 
republican attitude had not availed him, and he too 
now followed Bailly to the guillotine, both guilty 
before the Republic, to which the chivalry of the one 
and the lack of it in the other were equally suspicious. 
But as if to prove that this was not a tribunal ot 
massacre, but a court of equity, Fouquier next gravely 
lifted the charge of suspicion from the Comte de 
Beugnot, who astutely defended himself and was at 
once escorted to the street and cast at liberty, being 
greeted by vivats and embraced with a fraternity 
almost as terrible as death. As Fouquier’s list was a 
long one no trial lasted over ten minutes, and in some 
instances several were tried together when arraigned 
on the same charge. The three plotters were, how- 
ever, tried separately, but in succession ; they had 
expected that they would be the first to be called by 
Fouquier, but as he had determined on the death of 
nearly the whole fournie he did not consider their 
crime to be as important as they themselves d’d, and 
283 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


they heard the death-sentence passed on many before 
their turn came. 

Boulet, the municipal guard, was the first of the 
three indicted. One question only had been asked 
him when from the mob, held in leash, as it were, 
behind the tricolor ribbon, there burst forth a roar or 

Traitor ! Traitor ! ” He approached the bar of the 
Tribunal in a craven manner and appealed to Fouquier 
not to condemn him without hearing what he had to 
say. When order was restored to the court he turned 
towards the mob, and cringingly proclaimed his de- 
votion to the Republic. He begged his judges to 
remember that he had always been a patriot, and 
recalled the part he had played in the September 
Massacres. He denounced all aristocrats and the 
Due d’Amboise in particular, to whose serpent temp- 
tation in a moment of weakness he had fallen a victim. 
Perhaps at another time his cowardly plea might have 
availed him, but he failed now to win the sympathy 
that would save him. His craven manner and 
hideous appearance, heightened by his uniform, which 
was spattered with the blood of the man murdered at 
the grain barge, was revolting even to the coarse 
natures of the people to whom he appealed. 

‘‘ See ! ” cried a woman, “ the blood of September 
is still on him 1 ” 

284. 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


“ No ! ” shrieked Boulet, losing all hope. “ No, it 
is the blood of a citizen murdered last night by yonder 
traitor and aristocrat, who forced me to change clothes 
with him that he might avoid suspicion. It is true ; 
I swear it ! Down with the aristocrats ! Citizens, 
you see what they can do, and now I, a patriot and 
an innocent man, have become their victim. Oh, 
mercy, mercy ! ” 

The Due d’Amboise listened to this tirade callously, 
but not so Egl^e. 

“ It is a lie, you cur ! ” she cried, in her most 
brazen people’s way. “Put the blame on yourself 
where it belongs, and don’t shirk it on to others like 
a coward ! ” 

Her words touched the pulse of the mob ; it 
roared — 

“ Yes, put the blame on yourself ! You knew what 
devils aristocrats were, you should have kept out of 
their snares!” 

The poissardes called aloud for his blood and reviled 
him obscenely j the jury and Fouquier stared at him 
coldly, waiting for the tumult to subside to finish him ; 
the very prisoners regarded him with horror ; his 
glance of abject terror caught that of Eglee glaring 
at him with a tigerish gleam. In a voice that quaked 
with fear he begged again for mercy, fell on his knees 
285 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 

and whined to the jury, and now and then his shrieked 
“Vive la revolution! ” rose above the uproar. But it 
was all to no purpose, and Fouquier, who had per- 
mitted him to monopolise a considerable amount of 
time for the double reason of the pleasure he took in 
the man’s agony and the example he was to municipal 
guards in general, now rose and decreeing him a 
traitor sentenced him to death and confiscated his 
goods. Boulet uttered a scream and fell in a fit ; two 
guards picked him up, and carrying him out threw 
him roughly into a tumbril. 

This disgusting scene over Fouquier called Egl6e. 
She did not stand in front of the bar of the Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal, but mounted the tribune, and 
folding her arms on her bust looked scornfully and 
proudly over the court. A vile epithet was hurled at 
her by a woman of the mob ; somewhere in that 
seething mass she recognised Manette and also Jean 
Laforge. The sight of them put her into un- 
governable fury ; if they were called as witnesses 
against her she determined to come down from the 
tribune and strangle them ; her rage seemed to 
give her the strength of a giantess. The voice 
of Fouquier addressing her recalled her to her 
situation. 

“ You are arraigned on two charges,” he said, “they 
286 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 

are very grave. First, you are accused of complicity 
with the woman Capet in a plot to free her from the 
Temple. Second, you are accused of advocating 
royalist ideas and spreading them through the streets, 
endeavouring to corrupt honest citizens, and at- 
tempting to stop the execution of the justice of the 
Republic. What have you to say in your defence ? ” 

Egl^e tossed her head and laughed in her ribald 
way — 

‘‘ By my faith, you are funny ! ” she said. ‘‘ A joke 
of a judge ! 7, an accomplice of her whom you call 

the Widow Capet, but who, in spite of your teeth, 
was the Queen of France all the same ! 7, a poor 

girl who gained my living at the corner of streets as I 
could and would not have been allowed to approach a 
scullion of her kitchen — 7, an accomplice ! Ha-ha ! 
Citizen Fouquier, you are very worthy of your crew 
of knaves and fools, to bring such a charge against me. 
That’s my answer to Number One.” 

It was indeed a ridiculous accusation, carrying a lie 
on its face, and, in spite of her sally, Egl^e at once 
obtained the favour of the Tribunal. With a 
triumphant glance and mocking voice she cried to 
Fouquier — 

“ Citizen, before I reply to Number Two I wish to 
summon from that pack of dogs there two witnesses 
287 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


against me. Remember, not for me, but against me — 
the Citizen Laforge and the tricoteuse Manette. In 
my own defence I will undertake to prove to you that 
Laforge, under his national uniform, is a traitor to the 
Republic worse than Boulet, and that Manette is a 
suspect, for I have seen her walking in the Faubourg 
arm in arm with one who cried ‘ Vive la reine ! * And 
she is ready at a whisper from Danton to murder you, 
Citizen Fouquier, with her long knife that is rusty 
with the blood of Madame de Lambelle. Ha ! you 
start, eh ? Do you wish me to tell all I know ? 
Remember, I know what I know, for have not 
citizens come to me in the Faubourg?” 

The tone of her voice was so distinct that all could 
hear, and the words slipped slowly from her lips like 
liquid poison. There seemed to lurk hidden danger in 
every one of them. The hoarse croak of Manette, “ It’s 
a lie ! ” came indistinctly ; and Jean Laforge, smitten 
with fear, to paralysing attacks of which he was 
subject daily, tried to extinguish his identity in the 
mob, but he could not escape Egl6e’s penetrating, 
triumphant eye. These two might have changed 
places, so inconsistent with their situation was their 
state of mind. 

Fouquier, who lived in secret dread of assassination 
ever since the death of Marat, stared at Egl6e as if he 
288 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


would read every secret of her heart. The jury, in 
which Eglee recognised men she knew only too well, 
glanced at one another nervously. The mob, too, was 
silent, full of curiosity and impressed by her unquestioned 
people’s manner and appearance. As if by magic the 
prisoner in the tribune — wretched, insignificant, and 
friendless — had turned the tables on judge, jury, and 
spectators. She was guilty, if ever a prisoner in the 
Terror was ; her defence was no defence, yet no 
advocate could have served her as well as she served 
herself. The words uttered at random, in a spirit of 
hatred and scorn, had, with all the suspicion they con- 
tained in an era of preternatural suspicion, thrown the 
whole Tribunal into a terrified curiosity. 

One of the jury observed that probably she was 
drunk when she shouted the seditious cries imputed to 
her, and that without doubt she was drunk now, as her 
speech to the President of the Court proved. “ Per- 
haps,” he added, “she drank more than she could 
stand to fortify herself for the trial.” Some other 
jurymen coincided with their colleague’s view. They 
seemed kindly disposed to her ; they could save her. 
Eglee was clever enough to know she had scored. A 
swift, wild thought fled through her mind, shaping 
itself into action instantly — a thought winged with 
hope — hope even at this late hour. As one of the 
289 u 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


people she knew the temper of the people, and how 
easily they were worked on. She had seen 
Mademoiselle de Sombreuil drink the blood of 
aristocrats to save her father. She knew that the 
tiger people could be moved to mercy, a grandly, 
generous mercy, once it was excited. She knew, too, 
the power that lay in the fact that she was a fille de 
joie ; she did not need to prove she was one of the 
poople, it was stamped all over her. For the first time 
she gloried in her unutterable past, it should save her 
and her lover as well. To save herself would be easy ; 
the mob was already in her favour, and even Fouquier 
was indifferent. Once freed could she not win the 
life of the Due d’Amboise ? Would not the generosity 
that freed her be touched by the sentiment of a woman 
of the people pleading for the life of the man she 
loved ? It was worth trying. All this flashed 
through her brain while the jury commented on 
her intoxication. 

“Yes, I was drunk,” she cried, “ mad with drink ! 
It was not I who cried ‘ Vive la reine ! ’ in the streets 
and led the mob into the Place de la Revolution, it 
was the drink in me, citizens. I crave your kindness, 
I have great need of it. Look at me ! Is it possible 
that I, born in the Faubourg, who answered the tocsin 
when it sounded, who followed the tumbrils, can be 
290 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


an incorrigible aristocrat? It is impossible, it is 
ridiculous ! I will give the lie to any one who dares 
to call me a royalist. I am one of the people. Vive 
la Revolution ! ” 

‘‘Your plea of innocence,” said Fouquier, “ must be 
substantiated. If any here know the prisoner, let them 
come forward and testify as to her character and 
sentiments before her arrest.” 

Three jurymen instantly rose in their places and 
declared that they had long known her, that she was 
of a wild, lawless nature, but good-hearted and honest, 
and that if she had expressed opinions contrary to the 
Republic it must have been due to drunkenness — a 
condition, they added, in which she had frequently 
been seen, and they besought the clemency of the 
judge in her behalf. The mob murmured assent ; it 
was clearly in sympathy with her. Manette and 
Laforge both knew its temper and were silent, one 
from impotent rage and the other from fear of calling 
attention to himself. Fouquier saw in her nothing 
but an insignificant fille de joie who was monopolising 
his time. He cared not the slightest whether she 
were guilty or innocent, and by acquitting her it 
would not cost him any revenge, and would please 
the people. 

“ Citoyenne,” he said, “ I see no cause why you 
291 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


should suffer death. On the testimony of these 
honourable witnesses I accept your plea of drunken- 
ness, and pronounce you innocent of any crime against 
the Republic. Let your imprisonment be a lesson to 
you. Take it well to heart. Do not abuse the 
generosity of the Republic ; learn to conduct your- 
self in an orderly manner ; avoid the vice of drink. 
See to what a pass it has brought you. Try to live 
an honest and respectable life, so that you may enjoy 
the benefits of this glorious revolution, which has 
emancipated all from thraldom and even lifts 
contempt from a fille de joie. Citoyenne, you are 
free.” 

This little moral lecture fell glibly from Fouquier’s 
lips ; his words were received with applause. Egl^e 
at once descended from the tribune, her head rather 
turned by her success. Two municipal guards 
advanced to escort her to the street, but she pushed 
them back and joined the mob penned behind their 
barrier of tricolor ribbon. The sansculottes and 
poissardes surrounded her, embracing her with shouts 
of “ Vive la revolution ! ” and their rage of joy was as 
terrible to witness as their rage of hate. 

The Due d’Amboise had seen the way the Tribunal 
leaned towards Eglde, and that she knew it to be a 
loop-hole of escape through which she might crawl. 

292 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


But he did not understand her motive. The apathetic 
indifference he had haughtily assumed as his attitude 
to Fate was disturbed. He had turned his back on 
what of life was left him as a spoilt child, for since 
life would not run as he wished nothing it contained 
should attract his attention. Neither passion, nor 
dreams of what might have been, nor Fouquier and 
his tribunal, nor the guillotine, should cause a single 
nerve to quiver any more. The world had ended as 
far as he was concerned. Not even pity for the poor 
ignorant girl of the people should cause him a regret. 
So he had determined after the failure of the plot. If 
life was to go all wrong with him — well, then he would 
be callous. But there is always some unforeseen 
chance to upset the most consummately conceived 
mental pose. The Due d’Amboise had never counted 
on the chance that Egl^e might be faithless. Her 
effort to escape the death in the Place de la Revolu- 
tion jarred him out of his indifference. She had no 
right to escape without him, and he felt the bitterness 
of one who has been subjected to treachery. 

When his name was called he forced his way out of 
the stifled mass of victims and mounted the tribune. 
His pulse was beating regularly, but his lips smiled 
nervously, and his usually pale face was flushed. He 
was not afraid, but the humiliation was terrible, and 

293 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 

¥ 

he pitied himself. In a coup d'osil he realised the 
completeness of the Revolution as he had never done 
before. Could it be possible that the man standing in 
the tribune as abased as if he stood there naked was 
the same who, five years ago, had troops of friends 
and alj the honour that wealth and birth could give 
him ? The past seemed to have vanished as if by 
enchantment ; it was the dream of a sorcerer, and 
never had any reality ; thh alone was real. Friends ? 
One lost in the Sahara was not more abandoned. 
The news of his death when it reached Coblentz 
would excite no more regret than a mere “ Poor 
d’Amboise ! ” from the lips of a royal personage ; even 
a very fille de joie had forsaken him. There remained 
to him nothing but his high name, created five hundred 
years before by St. Louis, and to be forced to carry it to 
such an end as this was the crowning humiliation. 
He had but one thought, one desire, which was to 
die as quickly as possible, and so end the mockery of 
his life. 

‘‘You are charged with corrupting the municipal 
guard Boulet, instigating treachery against the Re- 
public, and escaping from imprisonment. What have 
you to say in your defence ? The slightest lie ruins 
you.” 

Fouquier’s manner was insulting. This handsome, 
294 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


dissipated young man with the haughty and bored air 
was the aristocrat par excellence^ a type to which 
Fouquier was especially hostile. 

“ Corrupting a jailer, escaping from prison, instiga- 
ting treachery,” replied the Due d’Amboise, slightly 
elevating his voice, and speaking in a tone of polite 
mockery, “ all of which can be expressed in one word — 
namely, aristocrat. I plead guilty to the charge.” 

‘‘You declare your own condemnation then,” said 
Fouquier angrily. 

The Due d’Amboise inclined his head for answer. 
His manner irritated the people, it was as if he defied 
them. For a brief moment his eye regarded them in- 
differently, and, turning towards Fouquier, he said, 
loud enough for all to hear — 

“ End this farce.” 

Before Fouquier could go through his stereotyped 
formula of condemnation Egl6e crept under the 
tricolor ribbon, against which she was squeezed in 
the press of sansculottes and poissardes, and standing 
in the centre of the court addressed herself to the 
jury, to whom she owed her own release, and in whom, 
if anywhere, lay mercy. 

“ Citizens,” she cried, “ as one of the people, the 
free people, in the name of the Republic, I beseech 
you spare this man’s life ! The freedom you have 
295 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


just given me is no freedom if you condemn him. 
Would you tear out my heart and set me free, of what 
use would your mercy be to me then ? It would not 
be mercy, but torture, far more terrible than any 
you ever inflicted on the enemies of the Republic. 
Citizens, this man is my lover, life of my life — poor, 
mean thing that I am, I love him ! The words that 
have fallen from his lips are the words of despair. He 
did not mean them ; he believed his cause lost, and 
that any effort to free himself would be useless, 
and so in his humbled pride he wished to meet his 
doom more quickly. An aristocrat in name only, not 
in heart — oh, no ! not in heart. He was an Emigr^ 
because he was forced to it by the tyrant Louis Capet. 
But he loves France, and rather than live in exile 
among the enemies of the people he came back to die 
on the soil of his dear country. He knew full well 
the risk, citizens, but no price was too high to pay. 
He is one of us, I say. He is a true patriot, not a 
royalist. Ask him, and he will tell you it is true. He 
never had a chance to prove it before. I swear to you 
he came back to Paris with information for Marat of 
the utmost value to the Republic ; but Marat died 
that very day. Listen, and you will hear him say 
‘Vive la revolution!’ and he will mean it. He 
denied it just now, citizens, because he was in the 
296 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


depth of despair. Emigr6, aristocrat, not by his 
own will, but by the chance of birth. He has 
not a single friend in the wide world but me. 
They would not have him at Coblentz, they 
hunted him away, and in his misery he turned to 
France — dear Fatherland ! Surely it will receive him 
with open arms, for he is a true patriot. It is 
generous, it is just. Oh, citizens, give him back to 
me, he is my all ! Oh, give him back to me or 
send us both to the guillotine — I cannot, cannot 
live without him ! ” 

Her words were uttered with the intensity of con- 
centrated passion ; not even in the Place de la 
Revolution had her wonderful voice sounded so 
sublime. She glanced quickly from the jury to 
Fouquier and then to the people who had before 
hailed her release with acclaim. The suddenness of 
her action and the wildness of her manner had 
surprised the entire Tribunal into silence till she 
finished. On Fouquier’s cold and cruel face there 
was written hate ; he did not mean to be baulked ot 
this insulting, arrogant aristocrat j the jury sat motion- 
less and impassive, not daring to take the initiative, 
and watching for its cue from the sansculottes and 
poissardes. But the spasm of mercy that had seized 
them in Egl^e’s case had already passed, her passionate 
297 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


appeal fell on senses harder then granite ; it made 
them but the harder. Who was she, indeed, to have 
for lover a man of the quality of this contemptuous 
aristocrat ? She was a traitress to the people in loving 
him. 

“ To death with him ! ” cried frantic voices. ‘‘To 
death with the corrupter of jailers ! To death with 
the conspirator ! To death with the arch-aristocrat ! 
To the guillotine with him ! ” 

For a moment Egl6e seemed dazed; she passed her 
hand over her face and stared blankly as if she were 
trying to recollect something. This reception gave 
her sublime state of mind a swift and painful recoil ; 
she was stunned and lacerated as if she had been 
mangled on a jagged reef by the surf. Her appeal 
had not been the great tour de force^ the shining 
triumph she had anticipated, and she vaguely realised 
that her acquittal had not been granted from senti- 
ment at all. She had been set at liberty, not as one of 
the people falsely accused who had proved her staunch 
patriotism, but as a drunken, half-mad fille de joie, an 
insignificant creature with whom the Revolutionary 
Tribunal had no concern. And EgHe distinguished 
the difference. 

Turning towards the people she stretched out her 
clasped hands, and pleaded again — 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 

‘‘Ah, citizens, give him to me ! He is my very 
heart ! Ah, good people, be merciful, do not separate 
us ! I love him so ; give him to me — ah, give me the 
man I love ! ” 

Her words were greeted with yells and obscene 
curses, and a poissarde spat at her. With the changed 
temper of the people the craven heart of Laforge 
gained courage and he too shouted lustily in the 
savage chorus. 

“The fille de joie is a traitress, send her to the 
guillotine ! ” came the husky scream of Manette. 

“To the guillotine with the aristocrat ! Death to 
the oppressor of the people ! Down with the enemy 
of the Republic ! ” shrieked the people till the words 
were indistinguishable in a babel of sound. 

The Due d’Amboise stood in the tribune, from 
which at every moment he expected to be dragged and 
butchered. He was very pale, but he still wore the 
undaunted air of contempt ; it maddened the people 
like the scent of blood in the nostrils of wild beasts. 
He glanced at Fouquier with a faint, satirical smile as 
if the lack of order in the High Court of the Republic 
amused him. Fouquier caught the expression and bit 
his lips with rage ; he jingled his bell and snarled out 
orders to the guard, but the Tribunal was turned into 
a pandemonium that was not to be easily quelled. 

299 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


Egl^e once again appealed to the jury, she approached 
their bar and calling them by name besought them to 
save the Due d’Amboise. But eloquence, sentiment, 
magnetic personality — all were lost on them ; the 
magnetism of the infuriated mob was far more potent, 
they knew what the vengeance in the right arm of the 
people was like. Eglee made no more impression on 
them than a spoon in a viscid fluid. Jingle, jingle, 
went Fouquier’s bell; impassive sat the jury; insane 
were the people, scarcely held back by the municipal 
guards from bursting the ribbon and inundating the 
Tribunal ; terrified were the prisoners huddled together 
and remembering September. It was a scene frequent 
in the Terror — a court of justice in bedlam rather than 
that of a great free nation. 

So occupied were the guards in holding the mob in 
check that Egl6e’s movements on’ the floor of the 
Tribunal met with no restraint. If she had a weapon 
in her hand she would most assuredly have slain 
Fouquier ; the heartless ribaldry with which she was 
assailed was proof conclusive that her Herculean effort 
to save the man she loved was fruitless. The stormy 
sea was not less obedient than these people in their 
hunger for the head of the aristocrat. In despair she 
rushed to the tribune and flung herself at the feet of 
the Due d’Amboise. He knew now that she had not 


300 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


deserted him, he understood her reason for forswearing 
her loyalty to the old regime^ and why she had wished 
to be acquitted. In such a frightful moment as this, 
when they were in the gravest danger of being torn 
limb from limb, what she had done appeared heroic ; it 
thrilled him back into the earnestness she alone had 
ever been able to excite in him. He felt her power 
over him and he was deeply touched. 

“Egl^e,” he cried, raising her and holding her in 
his arms, ‘‘ you have squandered your freedom. I am 
not worth it.” 

“I only did what I could, M. le Due,” she 
answered. “ All that I am is yours. Ah ! there is 
no value in a fille de joie like me ! ” 

“ Egl^e, Egl^e ! ” he said, “ your name shall be the 
last word I shall utter, your form, yourself, the last 
memory I shall hold ! ” 

She answered nothing. Her despair vanished, driven 
wholly out of her by the divine spell of lying in his 
arms. Fouquier now rose from his seat and put on his 
hat as if he intended to leave the Tribunal. At once 
the rabble became still, he smiled at his power. 
Glancing angrily towards the people, he cried — 

“ Canaille ! The Convention shall know of this 
degradation of its court. I shall procure an order 
from the Republic One and Indivisible to conduct the 
301 


A GIRL OF TFIE MULTITUDE 


trials in secret. If my will is disobeyed the trial of 
these traitors shall not be continued. Do you under- 
stand ? Guards, separate the prisoner in the tribune 
from that maniac. Ci-devant Due d’Amboise, I con- 
demn you to die by the guillotine this day as an 
enemy to France ! ” 

“Courage, Egl6e,” whispered the Due d’Amboise, 
as the guards approached, “ go quietly, my girl ; don’t 
struggle, be brave ! ” 

The guards pulled her roughly from the tribune 
and held her between them by the wrists, waiting for 
an order from Fouquier to know what to do with her. 

Indignation now got the better of her — it was 
beyond her power to control herself. Accustomed 
all her life to the savage freedom of speech of the 
Faubourg, which knew no conventionality or restric- 
tion and was absolutely without fear, Egl6e struggled 
like a woman of the people that she was in the strong, 
resistless grip of the guards. Her face was distorted 
with rage, tears streamed rrom her eyes, and in a shrill, 
strident voice she cursed Fouquier. 

“ Dog of a tyrant that you are,” she cried, “ I fling 
your pardon in your face ! I spurn the favour of the 
Republic ! Down with the Revolution ! I lied when 
I said I was drunk ; I was not drunk, and I am not 
now ! Down with the cursed man-eating Revolution ! 

302 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


Vive la reine ! I will die with it on my lips, the froth 
of it shall choke me ! Vive la reine ! ” 

Her voice died away in her throat ; she panted for 
breath. 

“ Egl^e ! ” cried the Due d’Amboise, “ Egl6e ! It’s 
no use ; be calm, my girl ! ” 

The sound of his voice acted like magic on her ; 
she turned her head behind her and looked at him 
steadfastly, as if the sight of him was the only remedy 
for the convulsion that rent her. And she became 
rigid and still. The sansculottes and poissardes, 
intimidated by the threat of Fouquier, remained 
speechless, wondering what he would do. For their 
part they knew what they would do if she left the 
Tribunal free. Drunk or mad, she should not live out 
the day. 

In the stillness of the court the Due d’Amboise 
descended from the tribune and was led away. Egl^e’s 
eyes followed him yearningly ; she tried to speak, to 
call to him, but it was as though a band or iron was 
strangling her, and she could not. At the door 
Fouquier called to the guards to halt, and rising in 
his seat he began to speak. His imperturbable face 
gave no evidence of the cruel joy he felt. The 
aristocrat should drink the cup of degradation to the 
dregs ; he should not die before he had heard the 

303 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


doom of his mistress — a doom more terrible than 
his own. 

“ Woman,” he said, and Fouquier’s voice was 
studiously passionless, “ woman, the Republic is 
merciful ; it knows how to make allowances for 
the ravings of a maniac. It acquits you of all 
intentional crime and treason against it, for it is 
not just to make a lunatic responsible for the actions 
done in delirium. Nor is it just to the people to 
expose them to dangers that may be averted. You 
are unconsciously ignorant of the peril your sad state 
of mind is to peaceful citizens. It is my duty to 
place you under restraint, where in spasms of insanity 
you will be harmless. No medical board is necessary 
to examine into the health of your brain ; your mad- 
ness is only too apparent. I have no choice but to 
confine you strictly and alone to a cell in the 
Salpetriere ! ” 

There was a murmur of approval from the mob, 
but the frightful sentence fell unheeded on Egl6e’s 
ears ; she was looking at the Due d’Amboise, and 
unconscious of everything but him. But to him the 
doom of this faithful girl, who had sacrificed herself 
for him, was monstrous ; it humbled his courage. 

“ Oh, my God ! ” he exclaimed, “ have pity on 
her ! ” 


AT THE REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL 


“ Remove the prisoner,” said Fouquier, waving his 
hand to the guards, who immediately obeyed the 
order. 

As he passed out of the Tribunal the Due d^Amboise 
turned to look back at Egl6e for the last time, but 
the guards who held her obstructed his view. So she 
went out of his life as suddenly as she had come into 
it. In the street waited a tumbril in which some 
prisoners already condemned stood shivering in the 
cold November drizzle, while a mob at the doors of 
the Revolutionary Tribunal sang snatches of the 
^a-ira and jested obscenely. The Due d’Amboise 
took his place along with the others, and when its 
load was complete the tumbril lumbered slowly away. 

In the meantime Eglde remained in the Tribunal 
like one in a trance, stunned with despair. As she 
was very quiet no more attention was paid to her ; 
the interest of the court had passed on to other trials, 
which Fouquier and the jury now briskly despatched. 
Later on, after a discussion among the guards as to 
whether the mad woman should be conducted to the 
Salpetriere on foot or in a fiacre at the expense of the 
Republic, Egl^e was led out into the street and walked 
away between the guards to a solitary cell, to the very 
obliteration of all further trace of her. 

She left the Tribunal docile enough, while Fouquier, 

305 ^ 


A GIRL OF THE MULTITUDE 


jury, mob, prisoners, and guards, absorbed in the 
ferocious spectacle in which they played so intense 
a part, forgot her completely. A mere cinder in the 
huge conflagration, Egl^e, like the great exploding 
sparks, had ignited, blazed up, and burnt out. 

The ashes of history repose not in mausoleums, but 
in oubliettes. 


FAIRY TALES FROM AFAR 

Translated from the Danish Popular Tales of Svend Grundt vig 

By JANE MULLEY 

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TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT 

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CHILDHOOD SONGS OF LONG AGO 

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The verses were first published in the early part of the eight- 
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